Loose Ends and Resolutions
by Twilight Scribe
Summary: A collection of shorts exploring what could've, should've, and possibly has happened during and after Justice For All.
1. The Ultimate Showdown

Disclaimer: I am never going to give a "real" disclaimer throughout this entire fic. 

AN: There's so much in the Phoenix Wright games that could be elaborated on... I just felt I had to do it. This'll be a collection of drabbles and shorts that show what could, would, and possibly has happened "off screen" and out of our attention during Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Justice for All. There are also some events that did happen and I novelized them, such as this one. Enjoy folks!

(Oh, also: these scenes will not be in chronological order at all, so you'll probably stumble across spoilers if you're not careful. Heck, it's a story covering the course of the entire game. You WILL find spoilers.)

* * *

**The Ultimate Showdown**

Indeed, Moe's room made for an odd battle field. The two combatants prepared, staring each other down amidst the extensive collection of cheery clown costumes and broken comedy props. It was a bit sad that Money looked more intimidating than a full-grown man like Phoenix... But he wasn't going to give up! Sweet little Regina was counting on him to retrieve her costume. He'd sooner lose his badge again than return to her empty handed. He had to get it back, but... That primate was scary!

'Okay, I need to calm down. I'm Phoenix Wright, ace attorney. I've won tons of cases with nothing but an educated guess and a scrap of evidence. I've faced down two generations of von Karmas and come out on top! But... All that will mean nothing if I can't even get a sequined vest away from a simple monkey. No, I can do this. I have to do this!'

Striking a dramatic pose (which involved much pointing of fingers and getting up in the monkey's face) Phoenix cried, in his most sophisticated lawyer voice, "Give it back, monkey-brain!"

For a moment it seemed as if it would work. Money shrank back, glancing between Phoenix's accusing finger and the spangled costume as if he was actually considering obeying the command. However, it only lasted but a moment...

Phoenix's bravery melted away as he beheld an enraged monkey leaping directly towards his face, howling it's monkey cry as if to say "How dare you order me to relinquish my shiny?!" Breaking his stance, Phoenix put up his arms to guard as the crazed ape fell upon his neck and began pummeling the poor lawyer.

If you asked him now, Mr. Wright would say he fought valiantly against his bestial foe until the costume was won. Maya, however, will attest that Phoenix screamed and kicked like a little girl as the two fighters wrestled on the floor for the vest.

Either way, Leon's costume was recovered, Regina was overjoyed to have it back, and once again the day was saved by Phoenix Wright, ace attorney.

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	2. A Vow to Himself

Disclaimer: Quiet you, Pluto is a planet. 

AN: I'm always amazed at the leniency the Judge shows to everyone. I mean, it's almost impossible to make him mad. The only time he really gets upset is in the very last trial. But above all else, I want to know how Franziska got away with everything she did in court. Her whip alone should have earned her contempt of court and assault and battery charges... You've just gotta love videogame logic.

* * *

**A Vow to Himself**

The judge was a softie. A sweet old man who was too generous for his own good.

He had known that on some level for years, but this was the first time he had dared to verbalize his thoughts. The confession came forth as he retired in his private chambers, slathering aloe lotion over the swiftly rising welts he had acquired from the morning's trial. It dawned on him, as he poked the raw, reddened marks on his arms and face, just how exceptionally lenient he had been throughout his career. He also realized how often he had been taken advantage of.

No more.

No longer would he become abused and intimidated in his own courtroom! That era was over, and with it would go the whips and glares and rude witnesses from his presence. Never again would such practices be allowed! Anyone who dared to talk back, any poor soul that put even a toenail out of line would be punished severely. No mercy! The slightest hint of disrespect will henceforth land a stinging rebuke, followed closely by a hefty contempt of court charge.

The judge finished tending to his wounds, his confidence bolstered by the prospects of once again being in control of his court; but his soaring enthusiasm began to wane even as he rose to exit the chamber and rejoin the outside world.

In private he could claim he would crack down, be stern and draconian, as much as he wanted; but deep in his heart he knew as soon as he left this room he would fall back into his old ways. It was the same old story which played itself out every time he made such a resolution.

A contempt of court ruling? No, he was just too nice. Franziska, Phoenix... They had him whipped.

* * *


	3. Captive Audience

Disclaimer: Weasels are funny animals. 

AN: I feel sorry for Phoenix. I really doubt he'd like this, but Maya would force him to do it. Oh, and I'm writing under the assumption that after trial two, Morgan was sent to jail along with Mimi because of her part in the murder. Carry on!

* * *

**Captive Audience**

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

Phoenix was not a happy camper. He'd come by the Fey manor for a quick visit, but had immediately been roped into watching reruns of the Steel Samurai with Maya and Pearl. He should have known better than to visit on a sunday morning.

After the fiasco with Mimi Miney, Maya had dipped into the household funds and purchased the lovely big screen TV she had always wanted. (But Aunt Morgan would never spring for...) Now as she all but dragged Nick to the newly-dubbed TV Room she tried to counter his complaints with her pure optimism.

"Come on Nick, you're here so just watch one episode with us. You'll like it, I promise! Who knows, you may even become a fan."

"That's what I'm afraid of..."

Pearl was already sitting on the floor and probably too close to the screen to be healthy. She had been waiting for Maya and practically exploded in giddiness when she learned that: one, Phoenix would be joining them, and two, Maya had popcorn. It was Pearl's new favorite snack, a discovery she made just recently, now that she wasn't being so obsessively sheltered.

After settling into their spots, Maya grabbed the remote and brought glorious, high-def life to her beloved television. As the screen lit up she looked like she was about to start drooling. Needless to say it was freaking Phoenix out just a bit.

"Maya, I think you may be a little too excited about the Steel Samu-"

"Shh! Quiet, Mr. Nick, it's starting!" For a little girl, Pearl could hit hard. Really hard. She was also a quick little demoness. Before Phoenix could react she had jumped up, covered the distance between them, smacked him, then returned to her seat.

Thoroughly cowed, he just sat back and watched as Pearl and Maya began humming the Steel Samurai theme song. It was all too silly for him. Throughout the entire show he found himself wondering:

_'If the Nickel Samurai has been cancelled, will Global Studios make another show? They did it after the Steel Samurai... What would the hero be called; the Silver Samurai perhaps?'_ Boy, was he bored.

_'What if they made so many characters, they started running out of metals to name them after? Would they end up with the Plutonium Samurai? Or better yet, the Antimony Samurai! Hm, antimony. That sounds like it should be a legal term. A lawyer who's also a samurai. Maybe... No, I don't think the judge would appreciate a me wearing a suit of armor to court. But it is tempting...'_

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	4. Cruel and Unusual

Disclaimer: Don't litter! The gnomes are watching and will exact vengeance... 

AN: The entire second case gave me horrible cravings for strawberries, luckily I have a lot of green tea on hand, so I didn't go completely insane.

* * *

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Kurain Village, a place of beauty, mysticism, and discipline. For those lucky enough to be trained in the famous Kurain Channeling Technique, life is not easy. One must drill and practice continuously to develop the necessary control over one's spiritual power. The path is harsh, yet there is one facet of medium-hood that makes all other hardships pale in comparison.

As a medium-in-training, you are not allowed to eat any of Morgan Fey's jaw-droppingly large strawberry treats. Those gigantic sweets are reserved for customers and sit, unattended in the meditation room with a sign that reads "for guests only." They mock the poor students, who are forced to train while staring at the delicious fruits. It's so unfair it could make you cry.

(What's worse, adding injury to insult, trainees are denied the strawberries, but required to drink Morgan's special brew of exceedingly bitter tea. It seems as if healthy taste buds are a hindrance to spiritual power...)

* * *


	5. Outburst

Disclaimer: Don't run with scissors. 

AN: All right, I just had to write this because, well, I was wondering why it didn't happen in the game. Please note that the line I have Phoenix say about the bust is an actual game quote, not just a random figment of my twisted imagination. If you know that, you'll understand my point better.

* * *

**Outburst**

It all happened so quickly. One minute he was dishing out an accusation that would save his client; the next, Phoenix was getting a face full of whip and a nasty penalty.

"Order! Order! I will have order!" The judge roared, beating the podium with his gavel until it seemed like it would break. "Mr. Wright, how dare you present such a disruptive statement! I-"

The crack of a whip cut him off as Franziska took over the position of berating and beating the hapless attorney. "Mr. Phoenix Wright! How dare you upset this court with such a disruptive statement! There's no place for such foolishness in my perfect case!"

With his credibility sinking and his physical well being on the line, Phoenix was desperate to defend himself. "But I- OW! OWWW! OWWWWW! I didn't mean it like that!" It was the honest truth.

In a normal court session his statement of "They were crushed by Maximillion Galactica's ample bust!" in reference to the murder weapon would have gone unnoticed and without comment. Unfortunately, today Moe was in attendance and, despite his oath to be mature, he couldn't help but break out laughing at the mention of Max's 'ample bust'.

His hysterical cackling cut through any discussion that had been in progress. As the other observers and the members of the jury clued in to what was so funny, they began chuckling too. Even Maya joined in, although she didn't quite get it.

When all was said and done, Phoenix was sore, the courtroom was out of control, and the trial was given a recess until the next morning.

* * *


	6. Foolish Ramblings

Disclaimer: Fine! Go ahead and run with scissors, see what I care! 

AN: I'm sorry, I just couldn't leave this one alone.

* * *

**Foolish Ramblings**

The trial was effectively over, a "not guilty" verdict was now inevitable. Phoenix had performed wonderfully. The last piece of evidence he had presented put about eighty-two nails in the prosecution's coffin and thrown them irrevocably off-balance. He knew it, the judge knew it, even Franziska herself had to admit the skill with which Wright had backed her into a corner.

Now facing a highly plausible scenario, supported by a clear motive and conclusive evidence, there was only one thing Franziska could do: bluff.

"Mr. Phoenix Wright, you must be desperate if you believe that foolish bit of foolishness will fool this court into believing your foolhardy logic. How sad it is that despite all you efforts you are still just a foolish fool, foolishly clinging to your foolishness. I suggest that you give up now because no matter how much foolery a fool like you can produce, I will not be fooled! And I assure you, my case is foolproof."

Phoenix just shook his head and laughed. Franziska's outburst had been anything but convincing. It had revealed just how incapacitated she was. In her last statement Franziska had used the word "fool" exactly twelve times, he had been counting.

Victory was his.

* * *


	7. A New Life: Part 1

Disclaimer: Knitting, it's not just for grandmas anymore. 

AN: All right, this one is not funny. If I've done my job, it will make you sad, and that will make me happy. What a paradox... Anyway, this is set after case four and is what would happen after the "bad ending".

Retroactive AN: As aquakirbyyoshi has mentioned, this was indeed inspired by a piece of fan art. 'New Life for Phoenix' by Pimmy on Deviant Art. I saw it and I just couldn't help myself, I had to write!

* * *

**A New Life: Part 1**

Miles read the note again, as if he was unable to absorb the information the first time. It was a simple message, short and to the point, but it was just so sudden.

"Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright chooses death."

What an ugly turnabout. The note, despite it's crinkled and tearstained state, was inked in black on the very same type of stationary he had used for his own note over a year ago. It bore the same message, and had been delivered just as abruptly. They were exactly the same, no doubt on purpose.

Miles could only wonder if this deep, aching disappointment was what Phoenix felt upon learning that he had 'left'. Not that it mattered now... At the moment, the most pressing matter was attending to the hysterical young lady who was making a racket in his office.

Maya's reaction wasn't the least bit unreasonable. In the last few hours she had gone through enough emotional ups and downs to exhaust anyone. De Killer, true to his word, had released her immediately following Adrian Andrews' conviction. She had ran, half-starved, all the way across the city to Wright's office in hopes of being reunited with him. Yet, when she arrived she found only what appeared to be a suicide note.

"D-do you think Nick's really going to...?"

"Of course not." Edgeworth rose from his seat and began to pace about the room. "No matter how disillusioned he may be, Wright would never kill himself. He's merely left to find the answers he needs, as I did before him. He will return when he realizes who and what he is." he could hear Maya settling down behind him. When she stopped sniffing he turned and found a fierce spark of hope burning in her eyes.

"Mr. Edgeworth!" Maya got up and moved closer until they were standing just an arm's length apart. "Do you really mean that?"

Her question was as forceful as any objection he would have slung in court, but Miles could tell that underneath her determination she was bluffing as badly as Wright always had. She was trying to be strong, to handle the situation like her sister would have, but what she really wanted was an adult to tell her everything was okay. That Wright would be fine and come back soon. Above all else, Maya needed someone, anyone to fill the role Phoenix had played as her friend and three-time savior.

"Maya, Wright is a lawyer, he can never run away from that. I am certain that one day Phoenix will return. Until that day comes the most you can do is keep living and searching for the truth."

Maya stood stock still, glaring into his eyes as if trying to find some buried emotion that would contradict his speech. Finding none, she nodded and returned to her chair. Patience was not her strong suit, but she had no choice but to wait until Nick decided to come back. It hurt that he would just leave without saying goodbye to her or Pearly, but Edgeworth was right. She had to trust in Nick and get on with her life. The first step towards doing that was incredibly easy.

"Uh... Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go get some burgers? I'm absolutely starving!"

* * *


	8. A New Life: Part 2

Disclaimer: Toenail clippers are not allowed on airlines, but I've never seen a sign banning chainsaws from flights. What gives? 

AN: I'm sure the question you're just burning to ask is "What happened to Phoenix?" Read on, I trust it won't be what you expect. (Or maybe it will be, no way to know.)

* * *

**A New Life: Part 2**

Somewhere in southern Europe there is a comfortable villa, magnificently decorated and furnished in old world elegance, belonging to one Mr. S. de Killer. (Thought that wasn't the name on the deed, of course.) This is where Phoenix Wright sat behind his desk, contemplating the stupidity of what he'd just done.

After fleeing the courtroom and his fateful last case, he scoured the city searching for Maya and de Killer. He found only the latter. It was that encounter that led him to his current life and current dilemma. During his time in Europe, regardless of whether he was training or relaxing, he was constantly reminded of the friends and life he had left behind in America. It was his guess that now, after so many years of absence, they had given up on him ever returning.

Maya would have gone on to become Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique, and Edgeworth was most likely still one of the finest prosecutors in the world. Hopefully one who pursued his cases fairly, making sure that justice was served. Both would have moved on, content to assume whatever they wanted about him, and led their own lives. That's why he was so disgusted with his latest lapse in judgment.

In an attempt to relieve some of the guilt he felt for leaving without the barest shred of explanation, he had written a letter. A very incriminating letter, explaining just where he had gone and what he had been doing for the last four years.

It was a very dumb thing to do, writing that letter. His mentor (were he still alive) would have heartily agreed with him because now, everyone was alerted to the fact that Phoenix Wright was not quite dead. Knowing that his foolish message was in the mail gave him a distinct feeling that he was stirring up a hornet's nest of unpleasant consequences. If he was ever captured, the confession in that letter would be enough to convict him.

But what was done was done and there was no stopping it now. The letter was en route and would arrive at the Fey Manor sometime quite soon. The least he could do was pray that he hadn't overlooked anything while writing it. Running a hand through his heavily spiked hair, he reflected on the contents of the message.

_'Dear Maya,_

_I'm sorry for the suddenness of this message, but I had to let you know that I'm alive. I won't be returning to America any time soon, so I'm giving you the law office. It's yours if you want it. It would be best if you did take it, since I have no use for it myself. I'm no longer a lawyer._

_That's right, I gave up being an attorney. It took the Engarde case to make me realize, but I now know just how ineffective the American legal system really is. Now I work to serve justice in my own way. I know you may never forgive me, but I am now working as an assassin._

_As I said before, I'm sure you won't forgive me for accepting training from de Killer after what he put you through. I didn't expect you to. What I did is about the lowest thing anyone could ever do. Hate me if you must, I'd rather you didn't of course, but it's up to you. The only thing I ask is that I be allowed to explain myself._

_Being an assassin isn't like being a cashier. Clients don't just walk up and demand services from you; you're able to pick and choose what jobs you wish to take and which to turn away. I, for one, conduct extensive research on my to-be victims before I even take a job; and I refuse all offers unless the victim is a criminal who has escaped from the law. Only slime like Matt Engarde needs to fear me. You'll also be glad to know that I don't offer any of the forms of 'after care' that my predecessor was so fond of._

_Oh, and Shelly de Killer is dead, by the way. He passed away rather suddenly last spring. I never quite forgave him for that whole kidnapping incident..._

_Anyway, however you react to this is entirely up to you. My only request is that you show this letter to Edgeworth when you're done reading it. I think he would like to know about me as well._

_Whether you believe it or not, we assassins aren't such a bad lot. All we want (well all I want) is justice._

_-- Phoenix_

_P.S. Also, if you could, please tell the judge we have an appointment for next Thursday. Kidding! Just kidding.'_

Yes, the letter had been exactly like that. Maybe not perfect, but it got his point across. At least now his friends would know the truth, and was that really so bad?

Phoenix smiled for the first time all day as he pulled on his trusty pair of black leather gloves. Now that the business with the letter was settled, it was time to get to work. His latest assignment wasn't a for-profit job, it was for his personal honor. And so it was with a chuckle that Phoenix began planning, aided by various blueprints and schedules, the easiest way to infiltrate the studio where Matt Engarde was filming the new Nickel Samurai movie.

* * *

AN: I feel so diabolical right about now... 


	9. Much Deserved Revenge

Disclaimer: History is written by the winning side. 

AN: I HATED Matt, as the player was supposed to. I just wanted to see him get his due, I was also inspired by Edgeworth saying something about how Franziska was probably giving Engarde a face full of whip leather.

Also: Shadow Phantazy pointed this out to me, the sprite of Matt Engarde when he has his hair back and his goblet out... Looks a lot like the actor who plays young Hannibal Lecter in _'Hannibal Rising'_.

* * *

**Much-Deserved Revenge**

The trial was over and, in what could only be described as perfect irony, Matt was happy about his guilty verdict. At least now, in police custody, he was safe from the wrath of de Killer. For the next twenty years he would be nice and secure in is cell. Sure, it wouldn't be as comfortable as his mansion, but he was alive. The future was bright and beautiful!

There was just one question lurking in his mind. Why hadn't he been transferred into a cell? It made sense that he would have been immediately confined upon arrival at the detention center, but here he was in what seemed to be an interrogation chamber... His thoughts were interrupted by the click of a lock springing open.

Matt expected his visitors would be guards, come to take him to his cell. Imagine his surprise when, instead of a pair of burly guys in uniforms, a woman walked in. She looked kind of familiar. Refined european features, a nice body, the blue hair was rather fetching too- Wait, blue hair? Oh no, it was that crazy lady from the courtroom, Franziska von Karma.

"Hello, Mr. Matt Engarde. I requested the opportunity to speak with you before you were transferred to your cell." She declared, taking control of the situation as usual.

Seeing his chance to throw her off, Matt put on his most roguish smile and, with a swirl of his goblet, asked "Talk? Okay, but are you sure that's all you want to do?"

He was utterly unprepared when his goblet shattered in his hand. It was only after a few seconds of dodging airborne shards of glass that he realized exactly why the cup had exploded. Franziska stood, her whip stretched taut above her head, glaring at him with more hatred than should be humanly possible.

"Whoa lady, don't be like that- OW!"

"Mr. Engarde, you disgust me. You've committed heinous crimes and show absolutely no remorse. Not to mention that because of you, I was shot. You are slime, Mr. Engarde! I believe it is only fair, after all you've done, that you have a nice, long conversation with my whip."

Matt went white. He was used to dealing with the ditzy girls of tinsel town, Franziska was just too much. The fact that she held a grudge didn't help either.

"Y-you can't do that! That's police brutality!"

"Hm, I suppose you could call it that, but I doubt the guards will try and stop me."

Suddenly, Matt found himself wishing he had taken his chances with de Killer.

* * *


	10. Connoisseur

Disclaimer: People who say they like Mexican food, just because they enjoy Taco Bell, have no idea what they're talking about. 

AN: I did some research before writing this and got a list of all the Maruchan ramen flavors. Every flavor I mention actually exists, believe it or not... On a side note: I too, am an adherent to the ramen diet. My favorite flavor is MSG (also known as mushroom chicken).

* * *

**Connoisseur**

Ramen instant noodles. A wonderful food and, in the case of Detective Dick Gumshoe, the staple of a civil servant's diet. At a modest price of thirty-eight cents per package, those crunchy noodles were one of the few things he could afford. They tasted pretty good too. Good enough that eating them morning, noon, and night wasn't a torment. (Although he didn't mind a steak every now and then.)

Gumshoe had been subsisting primarily on ramen ever since he joined the force. Over the years he had become quite the expert, and would savor the noodles and broth like a wine connoisseur with a bottle of a particularly fine vintage. So familiar with the product was he that he could identify any flavor (having tasted every single one) perfectly on the first try. His tongue was so highly trained, it could detect the subtle nuances of the broth to differentiate between the eight different chicken flavors. (Chicken, roast chicken, cajun chicken, creamy chicken, creamy pesto chicken, curry chicken, chicken and mushroom, and hot and spicy chicken picante.) In addition to that, he could tell you what color packaging each flavor came in. (Plain chicken was orange.)

At first, when he was just discovering ramen, Gumshoe stayed safely within the realm of meaty flavors: beef (reddish maroon), chicken, shrimp (pink), and pork (purple). Then he got bored. You can only eat the same food for so long before it gets old, even favorite foods can become tiring. It was this boredom that led him to experiment with other flavors like oriental (blue), mushroom (brown), and chili (green).

When he got even more adventurous he hunted down some of the rarer flavors, including the eccentric lime (lime green), the now-discontinued tomato (red), and the dreaded "limon" chili-habanero with shrimp (biohazard symbols).

As habits born of necessity sometimes do, his eating of ramen had shifted from compulsory to... Well, it was still compulsory, but even if he got a raise, it was unlikely that Gumshoe would stop eating his ramen. He was a true connoisseur.

* * *


	11. The Blame Game

Disclaimer: Write things down so you won't forget! 

AN: I was thinking, what could I write that would add a traumatic twist to the Berry Big Circus's history and include several horrible puns? Then it hit me, this. I made myself a bit sad with this one...

* * *

**The Blame Game**

He felt very uncomfortable, guilty even, during Max's trial when the truth about Regina, Acro and that whole ugly incident came to light. The fact that all the problems at the Berry Big Circus had stemmed from Leon made Moe sick because... He had been the one to convince Russell Berry to buy the animal in the first place.

Long ago, when the circus had had trouble drawing crowds, he had gone to the ringmaster with an idea.

"I tell ya Russell, what this circus needs is a bunch of animals! I know a tiger never changes it's stripes, but we seriously need a new act. Think about it, Regina's old enough to start an act of her own. She could be an animal tamer. It'd be perfect, and I'm not lion! I don't think that is circus could 'bear' to be without animals any longer, so stop monkeying around and get some! Aha aha aha aha aha!"

Amazingly, Russell was able to overlook the horrible puns and see the sense in Moe's plan. A few months later, tamer extraordinaire Regina Berry and Leon were fixtures of the Berry Big Circus.

To this day, Moe never forgot. If it hadn't been for him, Leon would never have been part of the circus. Bat would never have been bitten, and Acro... He would never have had a cause for the vendetta that killed Russell Berry.

* * *


	12. Impossible Tears

Disclaimer: It is entirely possible to run out of clever things to say as a disclaimer. 

AN: In a way, this mirrors my own feelings at the end of the game.

* * *

**Impossible Tears**

Phoenix couldn't believe what he was seeing.

After dinner, when he had given Edgeworth Franziska's whip, Wright suspected that Miles wasn't going back to the Department of Criminal Affairs. That's why he excused himself shortly after Edgeworth's departure and followed him to the airport.

Of all the possible scenarios he had been inventing, Wright never could have expected this. The scene unfolding at the gate was beyond comprehension. Nothing had shook him this hard since he learned the truth about Matt Engarde. Not even Maya's kidnapping had affected him so.

To be brutally honest, Phoenix would have preferred it if Miles and Franziska had turned into giant rabbits and started beating each other with fish. At least then he could have been sure he was hallucinating. But no, they were having a completely normal conversation in front of the gate then, out of the blue, Franziska started to cry.

Franziska von Karma. Crying. No. No! It couldn't be! It was an impossibility that Phoenix's brain just couldn't accept.

* * *


	13. Spring Cleaning

Disclaimer: An overly powerful government is double-plus not good. 

AN: I hate cleaning. There's so much junk on the floor in my room, I barely know what color the carpet is. Yet I can find anything I want within the clutter almost instantly.

* * *

**Spring Cleaning**

Wright and Co. law office was the epitome of disarray. For the last couple of hours Phoenix had been struggling to vacuum and dust the place into shape, but had barely made a dent in the abominable mess. Luckily for him, Maya insisted on coming by to help. (She wanted to get some work done before the New Year so it wouldn't be so overwhelming then.)

The young spirit medium arrived around noon (earlier than she planned) to find an interesting sight: Phoenix standing on his rolling office chair trying to dust the highest shelves of law books behind his desk. What really made the scene surreal was the maid's apron he was wearing...

She only glimpsed it for a second though. As soon as he heard the door creak open Phoenix frantically twisted around to see who it was, terrified that maybe Edgeworth or Gumshoe had decided to drop in unannounced.

Unfortunately, in his distress he forgot about the wheels on his chair. The sudden movement threw him off-balance and caused him to topple to the floor with an undignified yelp.

"Nick! Are you okay?!" Maya rushed to his side and helped him as he sat back up.

"Yeah." He touched his head gingerly, finding that his spiky hair had absorbed most of the impact from his fall and had paid the ultimate price for its heroics. It stuck out in all directions like a psychotic hedgehog. "I'm all right. What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to come over, silly! I just thought we might need more time to clean so I decided to come early."

"Okay, but could you knock next time?" Phoenix stood and brushed himself off, then began straightening his suit and apron which had become skewed and rumpled. Maya just sat there, watching and trying to contain the burning question that plagued her mind. She failed.

"Nick... Where did that apron come from?"

* * *


	14. No Trouble At All

Disclaimer: Leaving something lying on the floor is an open invitation to any cat in the area for them to come and lay on it.

AN: I always wondered what happened to this piece of evidence... You'd think de Killer would be worried that the police knew what he looked like.

* * *

**No Trouble At All**

"He made a tape. Engarde caught my face on video.

"When I heard that, I felt like my heart would stop. Not only had my former client betrayed my trust, he had created highly incriminating evidence against me. Evidence that had fallen into the hands of the American police.

"But this danger was not one that could not be eluded. The authorities had not yet viewed Engarde's video, and so there was a chance that I could still spirit the recording away before my visage was revealed. The only thing standing between me and a perfect escape was the precinct's security system.

"My research showed that the Department of Criminal Affairs was woefully unguarded. Their security consisted of basic locks, a handful of security cameras, an easily bypassable alarm system, and two men named Winston and Nigel. The ineptitude of this particular department still amazes me, but I suspected that they would redeem themselves. It was entirely possible, and probable, that their evidence vault was far more well-protected than the building itself. I certainly hoped so, or my task would be completely without challenge.

"At least, that's what I thought. My endeavor went flawlessly. I deactivated the alarms, slipped past the cameras and guards; I even pondered absconding with the police chief's stuffed badger mascot, but decided against it. One theft per night was more than enough. Everything that could go right, did. Until, of course, I reached the evidence vault.

"What happened from then on is the part of the story that you already know. Your friend, Mr. Edgeworth, suspected that I might return for the tape and arranged a welcome for me. When I arrived at the vault I found no less than fifty officers waiting to arrest me. Though I was eventually captured, as you can plainly see, I take some comfort in knowing that of the multitude of officers sent after me, only twelve were able to limp away under their own power after the battle was over."

It took some time before Phoenix was able to respond calmly to de Killer's tale. He had wished for nothing more than this crazed assassin to be out of his life forever, but it seemed fate refused to oblige. What's worse, he now had to listen to this crackpot's story, which involved attacking and injuring several close friends of his, to try and form a defense.

"Well, Mr. Attorney, you said you wished to hear my thoughts from the night I was arrested. Have I given you the insight you needed?"

Oh, he had all right. The story had reminded Phoenix that his new client was not an innocent party, but a self-confessed killer who took pride in his work. Hadn't he had enough of this with Engarde? Wright quickly vowed he would never allow himself to be appointed to a defendant by the state ever again.

"Yes. But you know I won't be able to really defend you, right? Not even a little bit. I can't fight for someone who I know is guilty..."

De Killer just smiled. "Oh, I know, Mr. Attorney. I was never expecting a defense. In fact, I never expected to stand trial either. You've nothing to worry about, by the time you arrive in court tomorrow I will no longer be of any trouble to you. I give you my word. Now, goodbye, Mr. Wright. I do believe visiting hours have ended."

Phoenix watched as de Killer rose and exited with the guards. The last statement that his client, how horrible it was to call de Killer that, had said didn't sit well with him. An assurance that he would "no longer be of any trouble"? What did that mean?

Pondering it now wouldn't get anything accomplished, Phoenix would just have to ask him before the trial tomorrow. With that decision he gathered up his coat and briefcase and departed. It had been a long day and there was still work to be done before he'd be ready for court.

-- -- -- -- --

Though it looked like he was sleeping in his cell, de Killer was actually wide awake and alert to every detail of his surroundings. The guards had left after locking him in, and, from what he had seen of the prison, the halls were relatively unguarded.

He had meant what he said to Wright, he still believed in complete trust and honesty between client and professional more than anything else. While it was odd that he was now the client, his word was still his bond. By the time Mr. Wright would be called upon to defend him in court tomorrow, he would be of no consequence to the lawyer.

Now certain that the coast was clear, de Killer sat up on his cot and removed the false molar from the back of his jaw, revealing a miniature and versatile lock pick. By morning he would be free and out of the country. Then, if he was gone, there would be no conflict to weigh upon poor Mr. Wright's conscience. There would be no trouble at all.

* * *


	15. Slight Bruising

Disclaimer: Origami is an art that takes patience. You learn that after observing the results of trying to make a crane in under 30 seconds. Not pretty... 

AN: This is set before case one and Dustin Prince's (Maggey Byrde's boyfriend) death.

* * *

**Slight Bruising**

The Department of Criminal Affairs is an extremely busy place. So busy, in fact, that between the trails, investigations, and patrols the officers rarely have opportunities to just stop and talk. It was on a relatively slow day that two officers got the chance to speak in the hall as they ran to and fro.

---------------

"Detective Gumshoe, sir! How are you?"

Gumshoe glanced up from the report he was reading in time to see his subordinate, Maggey Byrde, snap a sharp salute. Had it been a normal day he would have been too pressed for time to chat and would have called a hurried "I'm good, thanks for askin', pal!" as he ran in the other direction. But since he had a few minutes to spare he was able to stop and notice how Maggey winced after saluting. He also took note of the cause: an ugly, purple-brown bruise about four inches long, located over her right eye.

The detective almost dropped his bundle of papers as he rushed over to examine the junior officer's wound.

"Whoa! What happened, Maggey? Are you okay?"

Maggey hesitantly replied that she was fine, and chose not to comment on how awkward it was to have her boss examining her bruised forehead so closely. She added that the injury had been obtained in an accident, the details of which she kept mysterious. Then, feeling rather uncomfortable, she bolted, leaving Gumshoe to wonder.

But Detective Dick Gumshoe would not be denied! He'd get to the bottom of this mystery (the case of the weird bruise, as he now called it), no matter how long it took!

---------------

Three days of prodding, snooping, and interrogating later, Maggey had had enough. When the detective came to ask his now-routine question of "Please Maggey, tell me what happened!" (it wasn't really questioning now, it was more like begging) the truth came out.

"I wanted to keep it a secret because it's kind of embarrassing, but I saw Prosecutor Edgeworth a few days ago while I was on patrol and-"

Gumshoe cut her off, suddenly he knew what had happened. With her bad luck there was only one possibility. "You were so shocked you didn't watch where you were going and walked into a low sign?"

"No! I've never done anything that clumsy before! I saw him and saluted. Just because we weren't at work didn't mean that he didn't deserve my respect. I just... Saluted a little too hard and gave myself this." She pointed morosely to her forehead.

"So... You gave yourself that monster bruise by saluting hard?" He grinned a little as he spoke. It was a silly story, but it was endearing in a way, almost to the level of cute.

Aware that he had been bugging Maggey about the incident for the better part of the week, Gumshoe quickly formulated a plan to repay her. He stepped closer so that his whispering couldn't be overheard by anyone else who might be milling around in the hall. What he was about to do was strictly against police policy, but the girl deserved it.

With a conspiratorial glance about he asked, "Hey Maggey, do you and Dustin have anything planned for tonight?"

Taken slightly aback by his question, Maggey warily told him that they did indeed have dinner plans. They were going to get a bite to eat right after work, then go for a walk in the park.

The answer made Gumshoe grin, his plan would work! making doubly sure that no one was listening in he whispered, "If you want to leave now to get ready for your date, go ahead. When Dustin gets back from his patrol I'll tell him where you are and cover the rest of both your shifts. You guys go have fun."

Detective Gumshoe had always though that a policeman's job, though necessary, was one of the most thankless around. He knew he and his fellow officers needed breaks every now and then, and he was happy to give them (even if it was against the rules). Especially to someone as enthusiastic as Officer Byrde.

Maggey was, of course, delighted. Who wouldn't be, getting off work two hours early? She decided to express her gratitude in her usual way. Standing ramrod straight at attention she cried, "Thank you, Detective Gumshoe, sir! That's very kind of you. I owe you one, sir!" She nearly forgot about her bruise and saluted, but stopped herself just in time.

Pausing for a second to recover from the near-catastrophe, she waved instead, smiling more thanks as she headed for the nearest door.

* * *

AN: I always thought that Maggey's salutes looked painful. It's like she's smacking herself in the face instead of giving a respectful salute. 


	16. A Death in the Family

Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, Spiderman does not do everything a spider can. 

AN: I figure this is one of the very worst feelings that Phoenix could suffer. Failing Mia, that is. Though a wet coat is really annoying too...

* * *

**A Death in the Family**

Phoenix stared off over the drenched graveyard. The downpour made visibility poor, so there wasn't much to see. It made the park bench he sat on cold and uncomfortable, and there was no doubt that when he stood up, the back of his coat would be soaked.

An outsider would wonder why he was out in this foul weather, what business he could possibly have, and why he hadn't accomplished it yet. Phoenix knew. He lingered on the bench for the same reason he had come to the cemetery to speak with Mia instead of asking Maya to channel her spirit. He was a coward.

The news he had to give, he couldn't bear to tell her face to face, where he'd be able to see her disappointment. It would be better to speak to her in her grave. Her headstone couldn't torment him, could it?

Gathering his thoughts and what little courage he could muster Phoenix rose from the bench, coat sopping as predicted, and made his way to the familiar grave marker carved with the name Mia Fey. Now was the time. She knew he was here, so he couldn't just turn and flee. He had to admit his crime if he ever hoped to face her in the afterlife.

"Mia... I'm so sorry. I... I failed you.

"You were always there for me, as my boss, my mentor, my friend. I can't remember a time when I needed you and you weren't by my side. Even death wasn't enough to keep you away.

"Every time I've been in a jam, it was you who helped me. I guess... I just wanted to do something to make you happy, to pay you back for all you've done for me, even if only a little bit. That's why I kept him in the first place. He was one of your favorite things in the office and I thought you'd be a bit happier in the afterlife if you knew he was okay. It was so easy too! Just water and fertilize, but I couldn't even do that.

"I'm sorry Mia, I let you down... Charley... He's dead."

His last case had been an extremely stressful one. One that warranted a long vacation afterwards. He, Maya, and Pearl had left for two weeks in the Caribbean filled with sun, seafood, and umbrella drinks.

The fun they had had made it even harder for Phoenix to own up to what had happened. While they were living it up in the islands, poor Charley had been at home, locked up in the office and dying of thirst. When Phoenix came into work the day after his return he found Charley, withered and dying in his pot; and try as he might, Phoenix could do nothing to save him.

Mia's favorite houseplant Charley was no more.

* * *


	17. Spare Spectacles

Disclaimer: Eating with chopsticks is easy once you get the hang of it. 

AN: I always wondered where she gets them from... It's not like Adrian carries a purse. And I did count, she broke exactly seven pairs during the fourth case.

* * *

**Spare Spectacles**

After Engarde's trial, once that scum had got what he deserved and the drama surrounding Celeste's suicide was laid to rest, Adrian found herself transformed into a more confident, happy woman. A great burden had been lifted from her, but it had still been difficult, keeping her temper in check through her trial and brief incarceration.

During her time on the stand and in jail, keeping a level head had been her number one priority. Not because of hopes that a cool persona would impress the judge, or win her leniency and privileges for good behavior; no, she stayed calm because when she got upset, her glasses suffered.

Adrian had broken all seven of her spares while testifying at Matt's trial, she couldn't afford to shatter her last pair. Without her precious glasses she was all but blind. Sure, they would be replaced eventually, but it made her feel insecure; and after all she had been though she never wanted to feel that way again. She hated it.

But soon she would be free to be herself again. Her first act as a reformed woman was to call a cab, which she directed to the department store in the middle of town. Within the monolithic shopping center was an optometrist and jeweler who crafted her custom-made glasses. Upon arriving at the shop she was immediately and warmly welcomed by the staff.

"Ms. Andrews, how wonderful to see you again. How may we be of assistance?"

There was only one answer, the same answer given every visit, and it was always another question. "How many pairs of my frames do you have made up?"

"We had thirty-eight bare frames; but since we knew you were to be released today, we assembled twenty complete pairs of glasses to be ready for pickup as soon as you arrived. I trust this is satisfactory?"

Adrian smiled inwardly, this was one of the only perks that had come from working for Matt. She had the resources to afford the very best.

"Absolutely, that's wonderful! Thank you. I'll take them all." She felt marvelous. She had been expecting to have to wait while they made the glasses, but now it seemed she would be able to walk away with her shiny new spectacles.

Later, after all adjustments and transactions had been made, Adrian walked out of the shop with a bag full of lovely glasses in hand. She was very excited, twenty new pairs... Twenty. That would last her for almost a week!

* * *


	18. Daydreams and Major Misconceptions

Disclaimer: When I was little I always wanted to be a cashier. Then I was forced to abandon my dreams and become a ballerina.

AN: Pearl lives in a dream world when it comes to relationships... Poor lass, heaven forbid she starts writing fan fiction. And just for the record, I don't condone forced marriage, not at all. And I know certain characters are **extremely** out of character, I wrote it that way. All will be explained at the end.

* * *

**Daydreams and Major Misconceptions**

The cathedral was beautiful. The brilliant mid-June sunlight streaming through the sanctuary's ornate stained glass windows made for a stunning sight. The chapel of normally dark and severe gothic stonework had been transformed into the perfect place to hold a joyous marriage ceremony.

There was just one thing spoiling the perfection of the moment: the bride was bawling her eyes out. It wasn't just a case of pre-wedding jitters that had reduced Maya to her sobbing state, she had been forced into an arranged marriage that was essentially an elaborate case of blackmail.

Of course, the entire affair was undesirable, nay, detestable to her; so she sat in her chambers in her lovely wedding gown, weeping and waiting for her cue to go out and get married to the scoundrel who held Pearl for ransom.

A knock on the door made her look up to see Detective Gumshoe poking his head into the room. He looked so sad that Maya temporarily forgot about her own problems and began to pity the man. He was obviously against this marriage scheme, but his loyalties kept him from refusing.

"You ready to go?" He asked as he stepped into the room. She answered him with a half-hearted nod. He would be the one walking her down the aisle as Maya didn't have any male relatives, and Phoenix would never agree to such insanity. "I'm really sorry about this, pal. I don't know what to say..."

"I-it's okay, Mr. Gumshoe. It's not your fault."

Her remark hardly helped to cheer him up. "I don't know, I could have done something..." He heaved a sigh and motioned to the door. "We should get going. He's getting impatient out there."

Maya gave another weak nod and they exited the room, striding down the aisle arm in arm towards the altar where the groom awaited. Despite the situation she was in, Maya couldn't help but giggle when she saw the groom's attire. He had insisted on wearing a tuxedo custom-made in his signature maroon and replaced the bowtie with his usual cravat. It was hardly a change at all.

As soon as they arrived, Gumshoe quickly excused himself, leaving them to talk until the ceremony began. (The Judge, oblivious to the situation, was a bit nervous about the whole thing. This would be the first time he ever used his power to facilitate a wedding.) While they were waiting, the groom took the opportunity to comment on Maya's giggling.

"My, my, you're laughing. Could it be you've finally warmed up to the idea of our marriage?"

"No way, Mr. Edgeworth. I'm never going to accept this." She tried to be as harsh as possible, but Edgeworth just gave a grin and tsked at her.

"You should stop calling me mister. We'll be married soon and, well, it would just be too odd."

All her life Maya had been hearing people talk about how time flew or slowed to a crawl, but she had never experienced a phenomenon herself until now. The ceremony seemed to stretch on and on for an eternity, with each word from the Judge's mouth steadily chipping away at her freedom. It was torturous, yet she wanted it to continue. The more the Judge spoke, the longer it would be before she was forced to say "I do", and the more chances she would have to escape. Then they reached the point of no return.

"If any feel this union should not be, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

That was it. Maya could feel the iron bars of matrimony slamming shut on her life. There was no one in the church who would speak up and save her from this fate, and she couldn't say no herself. It was all over...

"Objection!"

All eyes turned to the door of the sanctuary, seeking the one who dared to disrupt the proceedings. They found a figure standing silhouetted in the doorway, his arm flung out dramatically, finger pointed straight at Edgeworth's heart. It was Phoenix Wright, Ace Samurai Attorney. And it looked like there was someone behind him. Was it...?

"Maya, I found Pearls! You don't have to marry Edgeworth anymore!"

A tidal wave of relief washed over Maya. Phoenix had just saved her in more ways than he'd ever know, he was truly the master of turnabout. Breaking away from the altar, she bolted to her cousin's side and gave Pearl a huge hug. After making sure that Pearl was unharmed, Maya turned her affections on Phoenix and wrapped him in a bone-crushing embrace.

"Nick, my hero! Thank you so much!"

"Anything for you, Maya. I love you too much to let Edgeworth force you into- Wait, where did Miles go?!" Phoenix searched around the sanctuary quickly. If Edgeworth remained, he would be arrested and brought up on charges. But...

"It looks like he left..."

All three stood silent for a moment, pondering the ordeal they had just been through; and Maya, having come so close to losing her happiness forever, made a decision. Looking up at her savior, she asked, "Nick?"

He turned his attention back to her. "Yes, Maya?"

She glanced down again, suddenly afraid of how he may answer her next question, but quickly steeled her resolve. If she wanted a happy ending to this day, she'd have to take the risk and start the process herself.

"When you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

For the second time in the day, time felt like it had ground to a stop as Maya waited for Phoenix's answer. What would he say? Would he reject her or answer favorably? Would she get her happily ever after?

"Yes, Maya, I meant it. I... I had been planning to propose to you before this mess with Edgeworth. I bought a ring and everything."

Bingo! That was the answer she was looking for! Reeling in her urge to whoop and bound about with joy, Maya threw a particularly mischievous grin at Phoenix. "Well, if you have the ring, and I'm still in this dress, why don't we get married now? The Judge is just about at the 'I do's now."

And that was the answer he was looking for. Phoenix knew he had had something suave and adorable to say, but he was too busy smiling like a love-struck teenager. Snapping out of it, he got down on one knee. Although she had obviously already accepted, to make it right and proper he still had to ask. "Maya Fey, will you marry me?"

Her reply was instantaneous. "Yes, Nick. Of course I will!"

The only extra commentary necessary was from Pearl, a resounding shout of "Aw, how romantic!"

-- -- -- -- --

Maya and Phoenix were worried.

He had dropped in for a visit at the Fey Manor and Maya, as usual, had greeted him with a hug. What was worrisome was Pearl's behavior. After watching that first hug, she'd been starry-eyed and giddy, like a schoolgirl who gets to meet her favorite Hollywood hunk.

Throughout the visit she'd keep blushing, then, smiling cryptically, would say things like "I'll leave you two alone" and excuse herself. It was unsettling to say the least.

Now Maya and Phoenix watched Pearl from the Winding Way as she sat in the garden staring off into space, occasionally letting out a small gasp or chuckling to herself. She's been daydreaming like that for a good fifteen minutes, and her latest outburst was a fairly loud cry of "Aw, how romantic!" It was making her observers more than a little curious.

"Wow Nick, Pearly's really deep in thought." Maya leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, and her elbows on the wooden railing. "Do you ever wonder what she's daydreaming about?"

"Yeah, every now and then. If I know Pearls, she's probably thinking about us..."

* * *

AN: Yes, I had my doubts, but Kawaii Usagi Chan San encouraged me to post it. My explanations, weak as they are, for the OOC: Pearl doesn't know Edgeworth that well, and she needed someone to be the villain (out of the three possible males that fit the bill). Add in the fact that there isn't a big selection of men in the enitre game that I could choose from to be the villains, and remember it's also all happening in Pearl's daydream, so there's no reality there. Is that a good enough rationale to keep you all reading? I hope so. Now please excuse me while I go munch some freshly-baked apple fritters, they smell delicious...

* * *


	19. Another Death in the Family

Disclaimer: Warning! All content herein is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons or places is entirely coincidental. Not to be taken internally. Please consult your doctor before use. May cause swelling. 

AN: Gah, this was meant to come directly after A Death in the Family, but I didn't have it typed up. Beyond that I... Honestly can't think of anything much I want to say to you all. Except that I can't wait for PW:3 to be released here where I live.

* * *

**Another Death in the Family**

The atmosphere in Franziska von Karma's office was usually strict and methodical, not allowing for even a vague shadow of disorder. Everything was kept in it's proper place for quick and easy retrieval, near-silence was maintained to allow greater focus on building a perfect case. The office was like a library, only this librarian rewarded those who disturbed her fragile peace with stinging whip welts.

It was usual for the visitors to her office to feel nervous and more than a little apprehensive, but today those who dared to set foot in her sanctuary would flee in screaming terror. Today, the aura hovering around her chunk of the Prosecutor's Office was suffocating and repressive, indicative of her sour mood.

Rumor was that her distress, if you could ever accurately describe a von Karma as being distressed, was due to a phone call that, in addition to distracting her from her work, brought tidings of bothersome news. Word from the janitor working that particular hallway was that it had taken her hours after the hushed conversation to return to some semblance of her accustomed calm.

At least now anyone who poked their noses into the dread office wouldn't have them whipped off. A fact that was good for Detective Gumshoe who, disregarding the warnings of those he met in the hall, strode right in, bravely putting himself in the line of fire. He had nothing to fear, she was expecting him and the report he had come to deliver. It would have been worse for him if he didn't show up.

The first thing Gumshoe noticed as he stepped into the room was the sudden drop in temperature. It wasn't an emotional iciness coating the room, but a physical one; Franziska's office was a good six degrees colder than the rest of the building, as if her anger sucked all the energy from the surroundings. Shuffling forward, he quietly cleared his throat in an attempt to announce his presence without disturbing the young prosecutor.

"Here's that report you asked for, Ms. von Karma."

In one fluid motion Franziska looked up and accepted the bundle of papers. Gumshoe couldn't help but marvel at how coldly efficient she was as he watched her quickly scan the documents then return to work. He'd seen her building one of her 'perfect' cases before but he still couldn't get used to how mechanical she was when working. It was kind of scary.

He didn't even notice how his thoughts had wandered until he heard Franziska shouting something at him, her words followed closely by a loud whip crack.

"Detective Gumshoe! I do not have time for your foolishness, pay attention!" Another whip crack. Thought she wasn't hitting him directly, the extremely loud noise (right next to his head) was enough to bring her subordinate out of his reverie.

"S-sorry Ms. von Karma. I was just, uh, thinking and..." The detective's voice trailed off as he hung his head, fully prepared to be yelled at. It was just what happened when you messed up in a von Karma's office, you were berated, loudly and for a long time.

Imagine then Gumshoe's surprise when, instead of raising her whip again, Franziska merely considered him for a moment then returned to her seat and resumed her work. He was stunned. How in the world had he escaped a high-volume lecture about the importance of not foolishly wasting time? Not that he was complaining, of course, he was just curious and had half a mind to ask.

Now, by this time any other officer would have been marveling over their good fortune as they fled from the young prosecutor's presence, glad they escaped with all their limbs intact. That's why Franziska wasn't expecting to look up and find that Detective Gumshoe was still standing awkwardly in front of her desk. Her first thought was 'Why hadn't he left yet?' He should know by now that an indifferent silence on her part meant he was dismissed. Perhaps she would have to be less subtle.

"Thank you, Detective. You may leave."

But Gumshoe didn't leave, those first two words had completely paralyzed him. A thank you? From Ms. von Karma? Something was definitely wrong. Franziska, noting that Gumshoe refused to take even the most obvious of hints, nearly lost her temper.

"Detective! What is the matter with you?!"

Thinking quickly, Gumshoe sifted through a list of possible responses until he found one that would both answer his question (What the heck had happened to Ms. von Karma to make her act so weird?) and keep another chunk from being ripped out of his salary.

"I was just wondering if you were feeling okay. You don't seem like yourself..." He almost added "pal" onto the end of his sentence, but caught himself just in time.

In the few seconds available to her, Franziska considered exactly what she would tell him. Or more accurately, what she could tell him while being honest and preserving her image as a primarily cool and logical figure.

"I suppose I'm fine. Earlier this morning I received a call with some unpleasant news." Normally that would have been enough of an explanation, but now it seemed her subordinate was ready to hear a story. Pausing just a moment to ponder why she was confiding in Detective Gumshoe of all people, she blurt out exactly what had been bothering her all day.

"Phoenix is dead."

It took a few seconds for the full impact of the statement to reach Gumshoe; at which time he let out a shrill and worried string of babble that Franziska never would have thought the easy-going detective capable of.

"What? No way! What happened?"

Franziska sighed, Gumshoe was being unusually curious, but there was no reason not to tell him. "It's nothing spectacular. Phoenix was out late last night and was hit by a car on his way home. He died instantly on impact. It's a shame though, he deserved better..." Her voice trailed off only slightly as she began to focus again on her work.

Gumshoe, however, wasn't going to let the subject drop. He was absolutely livid. Wright was killed and he didn't get assigned to the case? He didn't even hear about it until the next day? From the way the prosecutor spoke of it, it didn't even seem like an investigation was underway!

"Ms. von Karma, we got the guy who did it, right? That case you're building, it's the one against Wright's killer, isn't it?!"

If there was one thing Franziska knew, it was that she wanted this foolishly over-inquisitive underling out of her office. the whip was out in a instant, ready to punish anyone foolish enough to ignore its presence. She had work to do!

"Detective! what are you babbling about? Why would I build a case to convict-?" She halted in mid-sentence when she realized the grave misunderstanding that had just occurred.

When asking about her case, Gumshoe had said "Wright's killer" not merely "Phoenix". Now that she knew exactly what thoughts were flying through the detective's head, Franziska could only wonder how she could have overlooked the possibilities for confusion. Calmly recoiling her whip, she gave a brief and hopefully informative explanation.

"Detective, there's no need to worry about Mr. Phoenix Wright. Your defense attorney friend is perfectly healthy." She raised a hand to silence Gumshoe's next, inevitable rush of questions before it started. "He's not the Phoenix I was speaking of. The Phoenix who was killed is my niece's dog, the similarity in names is merely a coincidence."

Thought at a loss for words, Gumshoe recovered quickly enough. "So the reason you..." He wanted to say "You were terrifying everyone in the building" but decided to be a bit more tactful. "You were upset because the family dog died?"

"Yes, is that so hard to believe? Phoenix was a sweet and even-tempered dog. I rather liked him."

"I guess that makes sense. Sorry about your dog, Ms. von Karma." Gumshoe offered, looking rather downcast as he moved towards the door. Thought he was glad Wright was alive, the loss of a pet was depressing, even if it wasn't his.

Whatever he mumbled next, Franziska didn't hear, but she wasn't too upset about it. More than anything else she was glad he had left. Maybe now she would be able to finish her work. Uncapping her pen, she prepared to write; only to stop, frozen in place as she realized what Gumshoe's final statement had been.

_"Good thing I didn't tell Maya..."_

That's what it was. The very thought of the chaos that would have occurred had Gumshoe informed Wright's little sidekick of "Phoenix's death" was terrifying. Dealing with Gumshoe had been annoying, but to butt heads with that girl would have been a nightmare! It was enough to send a small shiver down the formidable prosecutor's spine, like the feeling of narrowly escaping what would have been a certainly lethal accident.

As Franziska stared at the stack of legal documents spread across her desk, she realized that she suddenly didn't feel like working at all. Any further effort she could give would be substandard, unacceptable. She needed a break, and, above all else, she needed a relaxing cup of tea.

* * *

AN: I did my research on this one: Franziska's older sister is married and has a daughter. That daughter does indeed have a dog named Phoenix. What brought this to my attention was that in the first game, fourth trial, Manfred von Karma says something along the lines of "My granddaughter has a dog named Phoenix" in response to Wright's suggestion that Yanni Yogi's parrot Polly is named after Yanni's old girlfriend. If you stay alert you pick up all sorts of wonderful tidbits. 


	20. Evidently Lacking

Disclaimer: Ambrosia, the food of the gods. Also known as Cadbury Mini-eggs. Man, I wish they were available all year instead of just at Easter. 

AN: We all know Franziska kept the last piece of evidence from the fourth trial, but the real question is: did she ever return Detective Gumshoe's coat?

* * *

**Evidently Lacking**

The view from the airplane window was stunning. A thin layer of clouds blanketed the sky under the plane, twisted into delicate shapes by the wind, while far below the Atlantic Ocean glittered and seethed in the evening sun. But Franziska wasn't paying attention to the natural beauty unfolding around her, every ounce of her laser-like focus was directed at the small card in her hand.

It was fairly unremarkable in itself, just a small white rectangle of heavy cardstock with a doodle of Phoenix Wright's face scribbled over the pink shell printed on the side. Anyone looking at it would never guess it had been a piece of evidence (though unused) against a professional assassin. It didn't radiate any malicious aura or unsettling vibe; the only clue that it was even remotely important was the intensity with which the young prosecutor was staring at it.

She knew the significance of the card. She knew that the drawing sketched around the shell emblem was drawn by Maya Fey while she was held hostage by de Killer. Most people would say it was unutterably sweet that, when Maya was in mortal peril, Wright was the person foremost in her mind. Not being "most people", Franziska just wondered.

As a von Karma she had never had the time or opportunity to be very emotional. And, due to her inexperience, matters of the heart were difficult for her to rationalize. Loyalty, responsibility, and camaraderie had their places, like in her relationship with her little brother. But the card had dredged up a question, a dilemma.

Everyone else she knew had someone who depended on them. Wright had his junior partner and sidekick, Ms. Fey. Miles had his faithful (thought rather inept) subordinate, Detective Gumshoe. Both men had someone to help them, someone who admired and respected them, while she... She had no one.

Then again, did she, Franziska von Karma, really need anyone to do anything? She had survived comfortably on her own for nineteen years, why should she require any support now?

The question was indeed interesting and philosophically important. Was she isolating herself? Was she truly alone, or was there someone who was there for her too? If so, were they even necessary? The subject would serve as the basis of several future debates to be sure; but what really perplexed Franziska was how something as simple as a marked-up calling card could evoke such a strong response from her.

She would, of course, keep it around, if only as a reminder. And if she kept it, it would have a purpose, earning its keep in some way. Yes, de Killer's card would make a fine bookmark.

* * *

AN: That's what I'd do with it...


	21. A Lack of Direction

Disclaimer: Deus ex machina is a perfectly valid literary technique. Really, it is. 

AN: I feel sorry for Ini/Mimi Miney and Franziska... Having to deal with, that pink-haired guy at the clinic. Man, he's creepy...

* * *

**A Lack of Direction**

After all his investigations, Phoenix still didn't know what was going on at the Hotti Clinic.

He had posed the same question to every nurse, resident, and orderly he could find: Who and where is Director Hotti? What was vaguely unsettling was how he got a different answer from each person he asked.

Among the responses were:

"Who's Director Hotti?"

"Do you mean that weird pink-haired guy? He's just a patient who gets out of his room every now and then."

And, most mysterious of all, "Director Hotti? I haven't seen him in years."

It was becoming increasingly obvious that no one, not even the staff, had any idea who was in charge of the facility.

Oddly enough, the clinic ran smoothly without any real guidance from a head doctor. Phoenix assumed that it was because the nurses and residents were well-trained, which was good to know. It just struck him as strange that none of them cared that their director, their boss, the one who signs their checks, had gone missing.

After several hours of investigation at the clinic, it was clear that there was no more information to be gained. Time to go. As Phoenix left, an equally cynical and optimistic thought popped into his head. _'They may be a little weird here at the clinic, but at least they don't believe that perverted impostor is Director Hotti.'_

It was something to be thankful for.

* * *


	22. Good Morning

Disclaimer: I recently acquired an interesting comic book: Batman vs. Predator III. Not only is Batman fighting Predator, but the title implies that there were two more of these monstrosities created before this one. There is no better proof than this that crossover comics have gone too far.

AN: The only really good jail movie I have ever seen is the Shawshank Redemption. It's an excellent film. If you haven't already seen it, go rent it now.

* * *

**Good Morning**

Every average citizen knows the general idea, the concept of going to jail; but very few people truly understand what it means to be imprisoned. The image presented to the masses by the media is anything but realistic.

In movies, jail is "the big house", just an institutional facility filled with men in black and white stripes. Inmates are fed sub-standard food, allowed to stay fit in the rec yard, and a select few are given privileges for good behavior. That's all. What the average Joe fails to realize is that's not all. The sugarcoated stereotype portrayed on the silver screen shows prisoners living almost normally.

That semi-normalcy was what Acro was expecting, what he had planned for as he concocted his designs for Regina. At the time, jail had seemed like a small price to pay for revenge. In his mind, Acro already lived in a prison. Every day he was trapped; unable to do even the most basic things, such as leaving his own room for breakfast, without the help of another. After living like that for months, a transfer to a jail cell seemed like it would be easy to bear.

At the time, Acro had no idea of what prison really entailed. He could never have guessed that imprisonment wasn't a set cycle of sleeping, eating, and staying in your cell. There was no way he could have known how soul-crushing it is to be imprisoned; To be ripped away from your friends, you family, your life, everything that made you who you are. Then, to be shut up and caged in a sterile cell of iron and concrete, completely subject to the fickle whims of the bureaucracy. It was hell. For one used to the life of a circus acrobat to have their freedom ripped away? There was no other word that could describe it.

The single positive detail in Acro's new life was his relationship with the guards. Due to his handicap, he had more interaction with the guards who helped him to exist in the wheelchair-inaccessible facility, than any of the other prisoners. As a result, the guards knew him, knew about him, and often brought him news articles or information from the outside world that they thought he would care about. It was good to have friends in relatively high places.

-- -- -- -- --

It was dawn, thought you wouldn't know it inside the prison. Windows were a security risk, so the only light in the cell blocks came from the slightly flickering florescent tubes held high to the ceiling.

Morning in jail is a routine affair. You awake to the click and hum of warming lights and wait for everyone to get out of their cots so the guards can open the cell doors and escort the prisoners to breakfast. Until then, you have to listen to the idiot a few cells down play his harmonica. You never thought it was possible for a harmonica to be out of tune, but when he plays it sounds like someone's strangling a moose.

Acro heard those sounds every day as the other prisoners shuffled out to the cafeteria while he waited in his cell. Then, once the others had been taken to breakfast and the cell block fell silent, he would hear the faint squeak and clatter of the guard returning down the concrete corridor with his wheelchair.

This daily wait was another security measure, one that Acro understood and agreed with. Though he would never think of trying to escape, the other convicts were not so noble; and if the guard had his hands full controlling Acro's wheelchair, it would be easier for the other inmates to do as they pleased. Besides, the chair was big and bulky, even when folded. Acro was glad to have it out of his way and not taking up most of what little space there was in his cell. And so, every morning, he waited.

This morning, however, the guard had something to show him. Once Acro was situated in his wheelchair and the birds that always attended him (they had followed him into the facility and the prison staff had given up trying to run them off) were in their places, the guard reached into his back pocket and pulled out a lightly crinkled article that had been clipped from the day's paper. He handed it over with a strangely solemn cheerfulness that told Acro the information inside was both good and extremely important.

The headline read _'New Act at Berry Big Circus a Sensation!'_ Acro frowned. It seemed that Moe, acting as the new ringmaster, had arranged for a new performer to take over his and Bat's old routine.

How rude, how uncouth, how... Cruel. It truly hurt Acro to think that he and Bat had been replaced without even a word from Max and the others. Sure, his brother was a vegetable and he had unspeakable things; but weren't they still part of the circus? Even if they were only an unpleasant past, he and Bat still deserved some consideration.

The article went on to describe the new acrobat's skill, poise, basically everything that made him better than the last acrobatic act. Instead of allowing his resentment to get the better of him, Acro quickly skimmed over the rest of the article, then paused as he reached the third to last paragraph. He couldn't believe what he was reading.

_'Despite the severe injuries he sustained only months ago, this courageous star is more than happy to be back in the limelight. In an interview after the show, he gave this inspiring statement: "Heh, yeah, I got hurt pretty bad. They told me that for a while it looked like I'd never recover. But I couldn't let that stop me, ya know? You can never give up no matter how bad it gets; because once you stop trying, it's over, and that doesn't fly in showbiz. The show must go on."'_

Acro could feel his heart jump, he didn't know what to think. A skilled acrobat, returning to the Berry Big Circus, after a recent major injury, who just happened to speak almost exactly like his little brother? Either this was a colossal coincidence, or Bat had recovered.

Frantically re-reading the entire article, he began to pickup the subtle cues, hints that only someone who had been close to Bat would notice, until there was no other sane conclusion that could be reached. Bat, his dear little brother, had finally come out of his coma. He was awake, he was alive!

The revelation left Acro speechless. It would have been impossible to form a coherent sentence around the mismatched emotions vying for control inside of him. Joy that his brother was well, anger at Regina that he had ever been unwell. Relief that the circus had evidently moved on, crushing homesickness as he remembered the troupe he had grown up with. And, above all else, the nauseating dread as he realized that, with Bat now awake and healthy, his actions and Russell Berry's death had all been in vain.

That thought led to it's own string of sickening questions. Bat had to have noticed the ringmaster's absence by now, had the others at the circus told him what had happened? Was it possible that his brother could now despise him for what he'd done? Or, worse yet, could the others have withheld the truth from Bat, making up some story to explain why he and Russell had disappeared? Could Bat not even know if his big brother still existed?

But the worst question by far, the one that made Acro feel faint, disgusted, and betrayed all at once, was why hadn't anyone come to tell him of Bat's recovery in person? There were six of them at the circus, counting Trilo, why had they let him find out through a newspaper instead of from the people he had once counted as family?

The guard, noticing Acro's pained expression, couldn't understand what could possibly be the matter, so he asked.

Acro's reply came as soon as he could reliably control his voice. "My little brother wakes from his coma and they refuse to tell me. I'm Bat's only family, I should have been informed as soon as he opened his eyes! They didn't visit, they didn't want to talk, it can only mean everyone at the circus... They want nothing to do with me. I suppose I understand, but..."

There was a slight tremor in Acro's voice as he finished, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. The guard, who had become used to Acro's difficult to read moods, noticed immediately and set out to rectify the grave misunderstanding that had apparently occurred.

"That's about as far from the truth as possible, Acro. That article was delivered by a pink-haired guy in a crazy purple get-up."

"Maximillion." Acro muttered. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, no doubt stemming from memories of Max's absurd costume.

"Whoever it was, there's no way he wasn't from the circus. He asked us to give you that article, said you'd understand. When we asked if he wanted to give it to you himself he said he would have, but he didn't think you'd want to see him; then he left. Now, I'm guessin' that the folks at the circus really do miss ya, they just don't think you do too." With his two cents given, the guard fell silent and watched as Acro weighed the worth of the new information in his head.

If there was one thing the guard's simple statement had revealed, it was that Acro was most certainly not forgotten; but if he ever wanted any sort of relationship with the circus again, it would have to be him who made the first step towards reconciliation. Heaving a resigned sigh, Acro made up his mind. It would do no good to remain distant. Everything he had done in the past, he'd done for Bat's sake. If he were to cut himself off now, then his actions would be even more worthless than they already were.

Even if he was never forgiven, he couldn't just leave the circus alone. It had been his home for as long as he could remember, he needed it. "After breakfast, would you please contact Moe -- his real name is Lawrence Curls -- at the Berry Big Circus? I would like to speak with everyone..." There it was, the first step on the road back.

The guard understood and, in a strange way, felt a little proud of the decision Acro had just made. "Sure thing, I'll have 'em here before lunch." Then, taking the handles of Acro's wheelchair, he asked, "So, you ready to go to breakfast?"

It struck Acro as odd that such a momentous conversation could be followed by such a mundane question, but he just nodded in response and sat back as the guard wheeled him out of the cell. Before lunch today, he would be talking with Bat, and right now that was enough.

* * *


	23. Good Afternoon

Disclaimer: There's nothing like a college town to make a dull day awesome.

AN: This is, as you'll soon find, the sequel to _'Good Morning'_ that Kawaii Usagi Chan San requested. I hadn't been planning on writing it, but once I thought about it, it looked like it might just be fun to try. Turns out it was fun, but I think I may have gotten carried a little away. It is... very long.

Just some info for those of you who are only children: A "noogie" is a common variety of torment that older siblings inflict on their younger siblings. It involves grabbing a younger sibling in a headlock and grinding your knuckles into the top of their skull. A noogie can be painful or in good humor depending on the force applied. It's usually just enough to mess up the younger sib's hair and embarrass them, because if you actually hurt them, you risk calling down the wrath of thy parents.

* * *

**Good Afternoon**

They came to him a little before noon. Acro couldn't help but wonder how the police could be so inept when their prison staff was so efficient. The guard had promised that everyone from the circus would be here before lunch, and that was precisely when he arrived with the wheelchair, ready to shuttle Acro to the visitor's room; but when he arrived on his side of the bullet-proof glass, he was in for a shock.

"Where's Bat?"Acro asked, his voice tinged with suspicion. Instead of the entire cast of the circus, only Max and Moe sat before him. Had everyone else refused to come?

"He's back at the circus. He was practicing his act when we left." Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, calling playing cards to his hand then carelessly flicking them away. The magician was obviously trying to avoid saying something, so Moe stepped in and said it for him.

"We couldn't bring Bat here, he doesn't... It would be a dead giveaway."

So they hadn't told him. Figures, Moe and Max were a bit skittish when it came to delivering bad news.

"Well, what does my brother think happened if he hasn't been told the truth?" Acro's voice was hard, not because of anger but because he was scared. His fear from earlier was coming true. What crazy story had they fed to Bat? Starting again, Max made a second attempt at explaining the situation, answering Acro's unspoken question in the process.

"We didn't tell him any details. Just that Russell died, you left, and Moe's the new ringmaster." He stated, having calmed himself down enough to lean back in his seat and serenely shuffle his cards. "He doesn't know anything about what happened with... the case. In fact, he doesn't even remember the accident."

"That's right." Moe gave a small nod. "Bat's repressed all of his memories of the incident with Leon. We thought that if he's going to hear about it, or the truth about Russell's death, then you should be the one to tell him."

The three fell silent, pondering the newly-presented challenge. In Acro's eyes, keeping Bat ignorant was even worse than lying to him. And then this, they come and tell him that he's the one who's supposed to enlighten his poor, amnesiac brother?

"Would you care to tell me exactly how I'm supposed to tell Bat about anything when you refuse to bring him here to speak with me in prison?" Acro cast an evaluating gaze at his former colleagues and watched as they turned away to look at each other. It was as if they'd sent some secret signal between themselves as the two men smiled and turned back to face Acro in unison.

"We've made some arrangements."

-- -- -- -- --

Much had changed in the four months after Acro's incarceration. The blustery, frigid winter had melted away into the balmy first weeks of summer. Moe had taken over the post of ringmaster, Bat was back, Ben and Trilo's singling act was finally well established (they'd graduated from 'Row, row, row your boat' to various excerpts from _'The Barber of Seville'_) and Regina and Max had finally gotten married. It was not the same circus he had left, but it still felt like home.

No longer clad in his prison jumpsuit, Acro couldn't help but wonder how much trouble Max and Moe had gone through to secure his release as he was wheeled across the circus's central plaza by a plainclothes guard. It was exceedingly rare that the legal system would ever relinquish its grasp on a prisoner, even if only temporarily, but Acro wasn't complaining. He had been given a chance to talk with his little brother again and he'd be damned if he let it go to waste.

The big top loomed ahead, looking disturbingly ominous for the place he and Bat had played as children. Strains of music floated out of the enormous tent as Moe pulled aside one half of the flap that was the front door. Acro recognized the tune instantly. Its quick tempo, with its unique mix of deep drums and flute was unmistakable. That was the music that went with their old act. The lone figure swinging high above the center ring was none other than Bat, busy practicing their old routine.

Acro watched as his brother rolled through a series of aerial flips and other feats, smoothly clipping out the sections of the act that required teamwork. To an audience who didn't know what was supposed to happen at each turn, it would still look amazing. It still was amazing. He had to admit, he was very relieved that at least one of them was still able to perform. It would be a shame if their routine, the act they'd spent years developing and perfecting, were to disappear.

High up near the roof of the big top and surrounded by speakers blaring his music, Bat had been unaware that anyone, much less four people, had entered the tent. He'd been so absorbed in his practice that he'd tuned everything else out. It wasn't until he'd finished and pulled himself into his normal resting position, hanging upside-down by his legs under the trapeze, that he noticed he wasn't alone. It took Bat another few moments before he realized that the figure seated in the wheelchair below was in fact his big brother, finally returned from his long absence.

Unhooking his legs from the trapeze, Bat dropped, rolling in midair, to land in the safety net stretched out above the circus floor. The elastic mesh stretched to absorb the impact and catapulted the young acrobat back into the air. Bat used this new, lower trajectory to carry him across the big top, turn a somersault in midair, and stick a perfect landing in front of the group.

The two acrobats stared at each other, each slightly unsure of what to do.

"Bat-" Acro began, only to be interrupted as his little brother lunged forward and wrapped him in a bone-breaking hug.

"Big bro! Man, have I missed you." Bat seemed to realize he was crushing his brother and loosened his hold, leaning back slightly but still kneeling to remain at eye level with Acro.

"I missed you too Bat. You have no idea." Acro turned to face the other men who'd been looking on. "Moe, Max, do you think you two could leave?" It was reasonable to ask for a little privacy, wasn't it? Thankfully, the others seemed to think so. Max and Moe shuffled out of the big top, while the guard retreated to just inside the door.

When he was satisfied that the others were out of earshot, Acro turned back to Bat. "There, now we can talk." It seemed that privacy was all Bat needed to reveal his real concerns.

"Acro, what's going on? What happened when I was out of it? I wake up and Russell is dead, you're gone... And they won't tell me anything!" The change in the young acrobat's demeanor was astounding. His cheerful mask pulled away to let the drawn, worried face underneath show through. "I heard them talking one night, about you having been injured, but when I asked they wouldn't say a word... And now I see you're in a wheelchair? What happened bro?"

It made Acro sick to hear his brother sound so worried, and to know his actions were the cause of that distress. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid. Well, in all honesty, he'd never considered that he might have to explain his crime to Bat. When he decided to murder Regina, Bat had been dead in his eyes. Asleep and never to wake. That would be another thing he'd have a hard time telling Bat. How do you gently break the news to someone when your message is that you gave up on them, decided to avenge their 'death', and ended up killing the only father you ever knew instead?

Taking a deep breath, Acro tried to calm himself as best he could. This would be difficult for both of them, but he was the older brother, the strong one. When he finally trusted himself to keep his cool, he started to speak. Choosing his words carefully, he began at the obvious spot: the first event that Bat had no memory of.

"About ten months ago there was an accident here at the circus involving you, me, Regina, and a lion..."

-- -- -- -- --

The entire cast of the circus milled about in the plaza outside the big top, waiting with bated breath to see the results of Bat and Acro's conversation. They disguised their snooping well. Regina practiced a routine with her favorite, ultra-sparkly baton. Moe and Max nonchalantly played cards (Moe proving himself to be a veritable shark) while Ben and Trilo struck a rousing swing rendition of _'Largo al Factotum Della Citta'_; but they all kept their eyes on the big top, anticipating the moment the aerialists would exit.

It took over two hours for the brothers to get caught up, but once the two were done Acro emerged from the big top to find his ex-colleague hanging around. The four performers were absorbed in what seemed to be a high-stakes game of Go Fish. Though thoroughly preoccupied, Moe heard the squeak of Acro's wheelchair and looked up from his hand.

"So... How'd it go?" The ringmaster inquired. Acro didn't answer but the heartbroken look on his face, visible for only a moment before he turned away, spoke for him. "That bad, huh?"

Acro nodded. "I knew he wouldn't take the news well, but I never thought he'd take it so badly..." That was a lie. Acro had fully expected Bat to loose his cool and explode at him in a flurry of curses, maybe even a few blows. He could have dealt with that, but the stony silence and the wounded look in his brother's eyes had hurt Acro more than any punch ever could.

After they had finished talking in the big top, Bat didn't say a thing. He had just stared at Acro in disbelief, then walked away from his big bro and climbed up the rigging into the highest reaches of the tent. He hadn't wanted to admit that his brother was a murderer, that his adoptive father was dead, that he'd lost nearly a year of his life, or that his best friend was the cause of it all. So he practiced. He turned his back on his brother and took his mind off it.

Acro could understand Bat's distress. He had imparted a lot of traumatic information in a very short time and all at once. It was natural for Bat to be shocked, but that knowledge didn't make it any less painful.

"How much did you tell him?" Max asked, snapping Acro out of his reverie. The acrobat regarded him carefully, as if trying to decide whether the magician was serious with that question.

"I told him everything. Why wouldn't I?" Did they honestly think he would have hidden anything from Bat? His little brother had been the catalyst for the entire sordid drama. it would be another crime, another blot on Acro's soul if he withheld even the smallest fragment of the truth from Bat. Surprisingly, Trilo picked up on Acro's thoughts and agreed.

"Bat deserved to know. No matter how uncomfortable it is for us, he was a major player. We couldn't keep him in the dark forever." The dummy's voice was ragged and raw. It was impressive that he could even speak after singing his repertoire of demanding arias for two hours straight, but what amazed Acro even more was that he couldn't detect a hint of sarcasm in the dummy's tone. It seemed too fantastic to be real, but Trilo appeared to have matured since Acro's incarceration. The circus truly had changed.

Had it changed so much that he no longer had a place?

Acro had never deluded himself into thinking that he'd be accepted back with open arms, but now it seemed that, even if he tried his hardest, he would never be allowed to return. There was no chance that Regina would ever forgive him, and Max would take her side. Bat wanted nothing to do with him, Ben and Trilo were enigmas, and as ringmaster Moe had to maintain a good rapport with everyone. They were stressed when he was just visiting. If it ever so happened that he did come back, unable to perform as he was, he'd be nothing but a burden and a wedge that forced the circus apart.

In order for Acro to keep his (former) adoptive home intact, he would have to leave it behind. With the circus's best interests in mind, Acro forced himself to say the hardest words of his life.

"I've done what I came to do and I've upset Bat quite a bit. Perhaps... It would be best if I left before I caused any more damage." He shifted in his seat to look back at the guard holding onto his wheelchair. "Let's go."

Though he tried to look stoic and resolute as the guard wheeled him away, the circus performers could tell Acro's inner demons were ripping out his heart and playing hacky sack with it before their very eyes. Regina looked about ready to run up and call him back when Moe put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

"It wouldn't do any good now, Regina." The clown-turned-ringmaster shook his head, looking solemnly at the ground as if in the middle of delivering a eulogy. "Acro's made up his mind. It may not be for the best but we have to respect his decision. Calling him back now would be totally out of line and-"

"Hey Acro! wait up!" All heads whipped around to look at door to the big top, but by the time everyone's eyes settled on the spot Bat's voice had come from, the young acrobat was already jogging across the plaza to catch up with his brother. He finally drew even with the wheelchair when it was nearly three quarters of the way across. "H-hold on bro." He panted, reflecting that sprinting was definitely not his forte. "You weren't thinking you were gonna leave without saying goodbye, were ya?"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me again." Acro forced the words out past the large lump in his throat. Bat looked horrified.

"Don't be stupid, you're my big brother! Yeah, I'm not happy about what happened, totally uncool that, but I couldn't ever hate you so much that I'd refuse to talk to you. We're family. Talking, being there for each other is what we do!" Taking advantage of his new position as the taller brother, Bat reached over and gave Acro a fierce noogie. "Where do you get these crazy ideas from Acro?"

The rest of the circus came running when they saw Bat grab a hold of Acro, worried that there may be some sort of altercation. From their perspective they saw only a headlock, not a noogie, and, without the benefit of hearing their dialog, it looked bad. The first clue they got that all was well was how Acro's guard made no attempts to break the two men apart, the next was the mild laughter they heard once in earshot.

"I'm sorry Bat. I just thought..." Acro murmured as Bat released him from the noogie.

"That's the thing with you, bro. You're always thinking, but you never think right." Bat gave him a light punch on the arm that didn't quite mask his downcast mood. He paused, becoming more serious by the second. "You're going to come and visit again, right? Sometime once you get out?"

"That depends on if the others are willing to have me." Acro averted his eyes. He knew Bat would ask, but the chances of him being allowed back were slim. It had been made quite clear to him that this visit was a one-time deal before he left the Detention Center.

Bat turned, intending to call across the plaza and ask the other performers as Acro implied he should, and was mightily surprised to find the entire cast of the circus had materialized directly behind him. It was only his quick reflexes that saved him from falling on his rear.

"Whoa! Uh, hi guys, where'd you come from?" Bat shook his head in an endeavor to get back on track. After his pulse fell back to a normal pace he asked the big question. "Can Acro come back to visit again? Please?" He put as much persuasive cuteness into the request as he could to ensure the others would accede. Bat had learned a lot about the powers of cute in his time hanging out with Regina; and though he had to adapt her techniques before he could use them effectively, he had a very good grasp of the art.

The others glanced among themselves nervously. None of them wanted to be the first to give a negative response. Bat could feel his stomach slowly sinking, had his plea not worked? Regina was the first to give her answer.

"Bat..." Acro held his breath. What would she say, what did she decide? Would the circus's princess banish him? "If it would make you happy, then I don't mind if Acro comes back for visits."

Acro was so stunned he nearly toppled out of his wheelchair. There it was, the deciding vote. It was the acceptance he'd been hoping for but never dreamed he's receive. He knew the others well enough to know that they would follow Regina's lead and permit him to return; it just didn't seem possible that she would forgive him. Bat's victory whoop pulled Acro out of his mental paralysis. As predicted, Max had already agreed, Moe was in the middle of doing so, and Ben and Trilo just shrugged and gave a non-committal grunt.

"Thank you." Acro felt thoroughly humbled as he looked down, his gaze locked firmly on his knees. He knew he didn't deserve it, but he was grateful for any opportunity to see his brother that arose. "It will be a while, but once I'm able I will gladly return."

"That's right you will!" The relief if Bat's voice was obvious. The boy was setting world records in resiliency as he patted his big brother on the back. "And I'll come visit you too."

"Acro, it's time to go." The guard leaned over and whispered tactfully. He'd been trying to give Acro as much time to get reacquainted as possible but they were quickly nearing the prison's deadline for Acro's return. If he stayed in the outside world beyond the allotted time, Acro would be violating his temporary parole and could have his sentence lengthened by several months, maybe even years.

The gentle reminder that he was indeed still a convict and still subject to the will of the state dragged Acro even farther back into reality. He was almost sure that the mental rug-burns received in the last few hours would plague him for weeks, but he was glad the guard had made the effort. The last thing he wanted now was for his exceedingly lengthy stay in prison to increase. Acknowledging the guard's warning with a serene nod, Acro looked up from his lap to address the other performers.

"Regina, I'm serious, thank you. Bat, I've got to leave right now or I'll be in even deeper trouble with the law. I promise you, as soon as I can, I'll be back. Until then, well, there's always visiting hours." Bat smiled lightly and gave a nod.

"Gotcha bro, I'll see you ASAP."

Acro allowed himself to be wheeled away without another word. He knew all too well that when talking about prison terms ASAP could be a very long time, at least upwards of thirty years for him, but he refused to let that bother him now. Today had been amazing and, though the aftereffects of the many emotional train wrecks suffered in the last few hours would no doubt be severe, it had been totally worth it. In just one day he'd been reunited with his miraculously healed little brother and reforged (albeit tentatively) the bonds with his adoptive family that he'd thought had been shattered forever.

There was no question about it, this day's events were probably the most important of Acro's life. Even more important than the events of the night that landed him in his current situation. But Acro didn't dwell on that little fact as he gazed out the van window at the rapidly-passing scenery. (A result of the guard driving like a madman to get back to the Detention Center on time.) He was too busy anticipating the next time he'd see Bat.

* * *

AN: That baby was sixteen pages long on paper, eight when typed. It makes for a long wait between updates and some painful carpel tunnel syndrome. Excuse me while I go find some ice for my poor hands...

* * *


	24. She's a Natural

Disclaimer: When given the option of root beer or real beer, I don't know why anyone would choose the latter.

AN: I've always been interested in the paranormal, sometimes to the extent of genuinely wanting to be a ghost hunter when I grew up. (I still think it'd be awesome, but I have no one to sponsor my research. At least not yet...) In fourth grade I did an extensive research project on bigfoot and the yeti. The funny thing is, I was able to tweak and (in a way) re-submit it in high school and got an A on the paper. Hooray for public schools and low standards!

* * *

**She's a Natural**

Phoenix had not been a happy lawyer when he followed Lotta out of the restaurant. That new camera she bought was more expensive than three months rent! There was no way he could afford to pay for it, even after winning a high-profile case like Matt Engarde's. Add onto that the expense of dinner, a hotel room, along with Gumshoe's new coat, and Phoenix was a very stressed man.

That's how he found himself in the parking lot of the Gatewater Hotel, trying in vain to get Lotta to return the camera and save his bank account. Unfortunately she wasn't inclined to cooperate.

"Wright, there's no way I'm takin' that camera back, ya hear? I'm a professional tabloid photographer. I need a camera to do my job!"

Phoenix had forgotten what a tough cookie Lotta could be, no argument he presented could sway her. She didn't bat an eye when he told her that he could lose his office if he bought something as expensive as the camera. She didn't flinch when he said he would lose his apartment if he didn't have the rent money she had spent. She even laughed a little when he mentioned having to eat ramen every day like Gumshoe!

How could any human be so cold? Running a hand through his stiffly spiked hair, Wright tried to find some way to convince her, some way to save his bank account before it was too late!

"Lotta..." Phoenix began, ready to swing into a final, all-or-nothing speech that would either change her mind or throw him down into the pit of eternal debt, but he never got beyond that first word.

"Don't worry so much, Wright. I'm not gonna take your money and run. You can count on Lotta Hart to pay ya back. All of the money, plus interest!"

That made him pause for a spilt second, considering if Lotta would really be able to pay back the cost of the camera. It's not as if she sold many, or any, of the pictures she took. They all ended up as evidence in court.

It seemed that Lotta had seen that appraising look before, and often enough to know what it meant, because she reached into her bag and pulled out a well-stuffed portfolio.

"See? I've got some good material. I've just got to sell it to the newspapers and then I'll have the money to pay you back." She held up the folder so he could see, shoving some of the loose photos back in before handing it over. "Go ahead, take a look."

Ugh, that smile... Phoenix couldn't refuse if she was so happy. He flipped the portfolio open, inwardly cursing his nice guy personality, and perused the pictures. There were a few good ones, he had to admit. A couple jewels that would earn decent paychecks. He just wished they could be something other than zoomed-in shots of celebrities' illicit behavior, but such was the focus of the tabloids.

Going further back through the pictures he found an image from his past, the picture of Edgeworth and Yogi on Gourd Lake. That photo dredged up a lot of memories for him. It had been a key piece of evidence in the fourth case he ever fought. He'd looked at it so often that he knew it down the very last detail, but looking at it now, when his attention wasn't focused on the boat itself... He noticed something else, a shadow in the mist beyond the boat. It looked like... No, it couldn't be! Could it? The shape in the mist looked like a reptilian head and neck rising from the water. It looked like Gourdy!

"Did you know about this?" Phoenix held up the picture, pointing out the mysterious shape. The shocked expression on Lotta's face told him she'd overlooked it as well. "Lotta, do you think there could be more?"

-- -- -- -- --

Lotta and Phoenix sat on the floor of his office, photos spread out around them. For the last few hours they had been inspecting each and every picture Lotta had with the highest-power magnifying glass they could find. The results were amazing.

"I-I can't believe it. I gave up being a paranormal photographer because I thought I couldn't find subjects, but..."

"It looks like you're a natural Lotta."

In the single portfolio Lotta had brought with her, just a small fraction of her photographic stock, they'd found six pictures that showed something of paranormal origin. There was Gourdy's cameo appearance, the image of Mia's ghost in a group photo (Phoenix intended on keeping that one), and the shot of the UFO that got Lotta started on photographing the supernatural. There was also an image of what looked like a mermaid swimming off the coast, a unicorn frolicking in the woods of a local park, and a clear picture of bigfoot, munching on trail mix in the background of a celebrity wedding photo.

The pictures weren't bad quality either. Instead of the grainy resolution and blurry images that are common in paranormal photography, these photos were beautiful. Clean, detailed images, captured in high-resolution on a professional-quality camera. Even Phoenix could see they were career-making shots. After finally realizing what she'd had all along, Lotta was ecstatic, as evidenced by her rapidly thickening accent.

"Wright, do ya know what these photographs mean?" Of course he knew, this would be about the eighth time she'd told him, but Phoenix kept his mouth shut and let her rant on. She was excited and he didn't want to spoil her enthusiasm. "This means I'm a honest-to-goodness paranormal photographer! An expert one at that. I reckon y'all can say goodbye ta Lotta Hart, tabloid photographer, and watch as I run off ta the near'st haunted house!" She babbled animatedly as she began to scoop up the pictures and stuff them back into the folder from whence they came.

"That's great, Lotta." Phoenix was truly happy for her. It was her big break, and besides, this meant that she would be able to get some cash and pay him back even faster than he'd imagined. "What magazine are you going to sell those to?"

"Huh?" That was Phoenix's first clue that something was about to go horribly wrong. "I'm not gonna sell these, they're my first real paranormal photos! I'll take some more and send those out, but these babies are stayin' with me."

Wright was stunned speechless. In his mind he was screaming _'What? I need that money, Lotta! My home is on the line!'_, but he found himself unable to make any sound other than a confused stammer. It wasn't until Lotta had packed and bolted out the door, already sniffing out a ghost, that Phoenix regained his voice.

Heaving a sigh, he fervently hoped she would find more subjects. If she didn't... Well, it was hello ramen for him.

* * *


	25. Perfection Corrupts Perfectly

Disclaimer: Trust me when I say that gothic clothing is by no means summer wear. 

AN: I do believe Maya remarks on this at one time during the series, but I couldn't let it go uncommented on.

* * *

**Perfection Corrupts Perfectly**

It happened in the Law offices of Wright and Company. Phoenix was sitting behind his desk, innocently filing papers and going about his own business, when a realization appeared and savagely beat him over the head.

The realization was almost as shocking as the suddenness of its attack. It was a subject that Phoenix rarely, if ever, reflected on. While looking back over the papers relating to all the old cases he'd worked on, he noticed that despite all the close shaves and near misses he'd experienced in his career, there was not one case he had lost.

His win record was perfect.

To a normal person such an epiphany would be a cause for celebration, but not for Phoenix. He had seen what had become of Manfred von Karma, of Franziska, of Miles. Their preoccupation with perfection and their drive to maintain an immaculate record had nearly destroyed each one of them. It was terrifying to know that he, Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright, was in possession of something as corrupting as a perfect record.

As long as that flawless reputation for victory hung over his head, there would always be the threat that he might become as twisted as Manfred had been. A demon defense attorney, willing to do anything to obtain a "Not Guilty" verdict.

_'But...'_ He thought, _'That wouldn't happen. That would never happen! I don't fight cases for my record. I fight hard for my clients because I believe in their innocence!'_ The little mental slap took effect instantly, making Phoenix feel more empowered, more in control and sure that his record wouldn't cause any sort of ethical downward spiraling. Then that bothersome, insidious, rational part of his brain just had to speak up.

_'Objection! Didn't you also defend Matt Engarde? You knew he was guilty, the creep confessed to you! But you still fought for an acquittal.'_

Now that was a low blow, especially when it comes from your own mind. Phoenix couldn't believe he was trying to guilt himself into believing himself by spinning the facts of a case he had barely survived through. Yes, he had defended Engarde, a guilty man; but there had been more extenuating circumstances in that case than in all of the history of defense attorneydom ever! What's more, even when suffering through all the stressful, conscience-wracking hardships of that experience, Phoenix had displayed more moral fiber than you'd find in Honest Abe Lincoln's morning oatmeal. (That's almost superhuman levels of fiber!) After all that didn't he deserve a little indulgence? A teensy break?

_'That's exactly how von Karma operated.'_ It was that pesky inner voice again. _'He worked by the motto "the ends justify the means", that and "perfection at all costs!" He thought that because he was working, breaking the law, to get what he considered the right verdict, he was on the side of the angels. That's exactly what you just did, taking the moral high ground to rationalize why you selfishly protected Maya when you should have been fighting for justice!'_

It scared Phoenix mightily that his inner voice could sound so fanatical. The fact that he could make himself doubt the good intentions he'd had while trying to save Maya's life was horrible. It was like he had a tiny Manfred von Karma sitting on his shoulder, taser in hand and whispering all these dark thoughts in his ear.

If there was one thing he feared, it was drifting away from himself and his beliefs to satisfy some idiotic pride over his record, and it seemed that one thing was exactly what he was doing now. Phoenix had never thought about his record before, but already he was starting to obsess. Luckily, he knew someone who could set him straight. Even better, he had her number on speed dial.

Fishing around in his pocket, Phoenix pulled out his cell phone and scrolled down through his list contacts. (He'd just recently gotten around to re-entering them all after that snobby conman Richard Wellington purged the phone's memory.) When he finally found the number he was looking for (in the M's, not the F's where it belonged) he quickly selected it. Thankfully, he wasn't forced to listen to her Steel Samurai ringtone when he was the one calling her.

"Hello, Maya here."

Phoenix paused on his end of the line. He knew he could always count on her to snap him out of his messes, but that would mean he had to admit his problem out loud, something he had yet to do. Taking a deep breath, Phoenix gathered his courage and said what was on his mind.

"Hi Maya, it's me. I think I've got a problem..."

"Oh, really? What's wrong, Nick?" Maya sounded a little confused. Understandably so since Phoenix was usually the one solving problems, not asking for help.

"You know I have a perfect record of always winning my court cases, right? Well, I think that may have started influencing the way I fight to get 'Not Guilty' verdicts." Phoenix waited with bated breath to hear what she'd say. Now that he'd actually voiced his worries he thought they sounded rather silly, but he wanted a second opinion. After a moment of deliberation, Maya's voice came back to him over the phone.

"That's silly Nick, you're fighting your cases for the same reason you always have: because you believe your client is really innocent! What, do you think that just because you're perfect you'll turn into some verdict-driven nut like Manfred von Karma?"

Once again, Phoenix was struck by how utterly uncanny Maya could be. He never quite knew if she was bringing her latent ESP to bear, or if her accuracy was just a coincidence.

"Y-yeah, that's exactly it. I started thinking about it and-" Maya cut him off with a noisy "humph". Phoenix was sure that she'd puffed up her cheeks and was looking very indignant, even though he couldn't see her.

"Nick! Stop doubting yourself! You'd never go bad, you don't have what it takes." Phoenix was mystified as to whether that was an insult or a compliment, but he accepted it and listened intently as she continued. "Besides, if it's such a problem you can just wait for a while. Sooner or later you'll get another client who's actually guilty like Engarde was. You won't be able to defend them because you won't have the evidence to back up your claims." Phoenix really didn't like where this was going. Maya seemed so sure of herself, almost like she was gloating; yet being helpful at the same time. "When that happens, Mr. Edgeworth will do his job and beat the pants off you. He'll shatter your perfect record and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"You're right, I just have to be patient. Thanks, Maya."

"No problem, Nick! I'm glad to help out, it's what I do best! Well, I'll see ya around. Bye!" There was a light click as she hung up, but Phoenix stayed on the line. He was stunned, too deep in thought to notice his cell phone had switched to an incessant dial tone.

It wasn't Maya's solution that threw him off, she had been absolutely right. For Miles and Franziska, having their perfect records broken had been a sort of liberating experience and it would be for him too. What had shocked Phoenix was the revelation that, in this instance, having Miles beat the snot out of him in one of their courtroom duels would be something for him to look forward to. It was an odd world indeed...

* * *


	26. What Happened?

Disclaimer: Garage sales aren't as much fun when you're the one who's selling. They're even worse when you're trying to sell your practically worthless junk in the rain... 

AN: Has anyone else ever thought about this 'what if...?' What if Phoenix had missed?

* * *

**What Happened?**

The first thing Edgeworth noticed upon waking wasn't the strange bed he was lying in, or that the clothes he wore weren't his own, not even that he had no memory of anything after the events of the morning's trial. (He hoped it was the morning's trial, he had no idea of how long he'd been out.) No, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing, agonizing pain in his right temple. All other observations were put on hold until he didn't feel as if someone was jabbing a cattle prod into the side of his skull.

He began piecing the facts of his predicament together as the pain started to subside. Judging from the sparse decor and unusual cleanliness of the room he was currently contained in, and the ill-fitting, green robe-like thing he was wearing, Edgeworth could only guess he was in some sort of hospital. A more in-depth search of the room (consisting of glancing at the nightstand and finding a pen printed with the facility's name) revealed he was a patient in the Hotti Clinic, though he couldn't guess why.

Throughout his entire life, Edgeworth had been careful to avoid any and all substances that could possibly affect his valuable brain. As a prosecutor a sharp and critical mind was of the utmost importance. He'd never smoked, drank, or taken anything that could jeopardize his mental capacity. Though he placed little stock in his memories, that fact made his blackout much more troubling. Since it couldn't have been caused by overindulgence there must have been come other cause, some sort of injury he sustained that caused this short amnesia. Could it be a warning of some dire health condition? Like a precursor to a stroke?

It was terrifying, for someone who valued his intelligence above all else, to think that he might become even the slightest bit less able.

Taking a moment to calm down, Edgeworth tried to look at the situation objectively. He had no idea of what had happened or what it meant in the long run, but dreaming up worst case scenarios wouldn't help to unravel the truth. What he could do was figure out what he did remember from before and use that to attempt to find a logical solution.

It took a moment, but after a little thought Edgeworth pinpointed his last memory. He had been in court prosecuting the case against Matt Engarde. His opponent, arguing the accused's defense, was, of course, Wright.

Despite the oddness of the case, the proceedings, as Edgeworth remembered them, had been rather uneventful. Testimonies were given, questioned, and poked full of holes as usual. Objections were hurled with calculating yet reckless abandon as usual. And the judge proved himself to be... Simple. As usual. In fact, the only truly unusual facet of the trial that he could recall was Wright's odd behavior.

Wright didn't like to lose, Edgeworth knew that. The strikingly naive defense attorney believed fully in the innocence of his client and would fight to and beyond the bitter end to get a "Not Guilty" verdict. It was understandable that Wright would be upset if it seemed he was about to lose, but Edgeworth had never seen him so agitated. When the going got tough it was expected that Wright would only struggle harder, but during this trial adversity had caused him to slump over in despair, as if he would suffer a death sentence as well if his client received a "Guilty" verdict.

Not only that, his cell phone had rung in the middle of court and he _answered_ it. Now Wright was indeed one to push the limits, anyone with eyes could see that, but such a blatant disrespect for the court was totally out of character, even for him. Even more questionable was how Wright had said it was Detective Gumshoe on the other end of the line, and he wanted to talk to him and...

_"Think fast, Edgeworth!"_

Suddenly Edgeworth knew why he was here. He knew what the injury that put him in the hospital had been, and his shocked shout was loud enough to draw nurses from every corner of the building to check on him. When they arrived they found a very stressed prosecutor sitting hunched over in his bed, staring blankly across the room. Other than that, he seemed fine.

Edgeworth paid them no mind. He finally remembered what had happened.

Wright had answered his phone, becoming more panicked by the second. Edgeworth should have seen it coming, he should have been prepared to duck or dodge, but he wasn't. By the time Wright threw his phone across the courtroom to Edgeworth, he'd been so distraught that what was no doubt intended as a gentle lob became a plastic and metal fastball. A fastball that Edgeworth caught with the right side of his face.

The memories of what happened after that were blurry and disjointed, most likely an effect of his fading in and out of consciousness. Edgeworth remembered being hit, falling to the floor, an ambulance, being wheeled into the clinic on a gurney with Detective Gumshoe jogging beside him... Where was the detective anyway? Knowing Gumshoe it seemed likely that he would still be in the-

"Mr. Edgeworth! Are you all right, sir?" Gumshoe shoved his way past the nurses assembled in the doorway and rushed to his boss's side. "You took a nasty knock to the head. How many fingers am I holding up?" The answer was two, but Edgeworth just pushed the offending hand out of his face.

"You can stop worrying, Detective. I'm fine." Edgeworth was glad to see Gumshoe didn't look too hurt or offended (if anything he looked happy, most likely because his salary hadn't been docked) and continued, his voice taking on a tired, no-nonsense tone. "On the phone, you said you wanted to talk to me." He watched as Gumshoe's eyes went wide. "What was it you had to say, Detective?"

* * *

AN: It's a good thing Oldbag never learned of this incident. If she did, well, Phoenix would be looking down the wrong end of a ray gun... 


	27. This is What Happened

Disclaimer: Wear long pants when you go outside and hike in the summer, ticks and chiggers are not fun. Nor are leeches... Yuck.

AN: It took a while, but you asked for it, I wrote it. Here's the sequel to "What Happened?" A brief look at how the game might have progressed if the Phoenix Wright series had the capability for action-filled cutscenes and if the end of the fourth case was quite truncated.

For those of you who don't know what a "nightstick" is, it's a police officer's baton. Also called a "billy-club" or "truncheon", a nightstick is a short, usually wood or plastic club used to, uh, keep the peace. It's a standard part of police riot gear.

* * *

**This is What Happened**

Miles couldn't believe how quickly the situation had gone sour. It was supposed to be an easy raid, a quick surround-and-apprehend, but that's not how it turned out. Somewhere along the way something had gone horribly wrong, as the bodies of dead police officers and the pistol de Killer held pressed into the small of his back so kindly reminded him.

"Your men seem loath to retreat, Mr. Prosecutor. I'm beginning to wonder if they understand just what they risk by not complying with my demands." De Killer commented loudly, speaking so the assembly of police and attorneys surrounding him and his captive could hear.

It annoyed Miles that de Killer refused to shut up. The assassin's smug voice irked him to no end because it was distracting. Normally the prosecutor would have already ferreted out at least six escape plans and put one in motion, but a hazy confusion plagued him, a result of the concussion Wright had given him, and made it difficult to think.

Being unable to plot was possibly the single most frustrating thing Miles had ever felt. He should have listened to the nurses when they said he was unfit to assist in capturing international assassins. He should have, but when Gumshoe told him about Maya's plight he had felt as if he had to save her. What an insane impulse. It seemed the short amount of time he spent in Wright's presence was already beginning to affect him.

The events of the morning came rushing back to him. It had only been a few hours ago that he'd woken up, so the memories were still crisp and clear.

_"I see... And you say the police have located de Killer's hideout at the Berry Big Circus?"_

_"Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. Our, um, intelligence says he's somewhere within a three hundred foot radius of the main tent and is unaware that we've found him. There's a team ready to move out at any time, sir." Gumshoe scanned the room as he spoke, as if searching for something suspicious._

_"Then we move now. Let's go, Gumshoe." Edgeworth's feet barely touched the linoleum floor when one of the many nurses at the door rushed up, intending to put him back in bed._

_"I'm sorry sir, but I can't allow you to leave. You've just recently suffered a concussion. You to take at least another three days to recover before it will be safe for you to go hunting after criminals. Now get back in bed this instant!"_

_Ignoring her command, he made for the door, then remembered that he was still wearing the hideous green hospital gown he'd woken up in. That would need to be remedied. "Gumshoe, do you see my suit?"_

_"Yes, sir. It's right here."_

_Thankfully, the hospital suite had it's own bathroom which Miles ducked into and quickly dressed. By the time he exited, not a frill was out of place and Gumshoe had already cleared them an escape route through the gaggle of nurses._

_"Let's go."_

He had almost gone to chase down one of the world's most ruthless killers in a hospital gown. It was obvious now, but Miles knew he should have stayed at the clinic. Franziska could have easily handled the raid. She would have done a more efficient job than he ever could have even if he had been thinking clearly. Why did he have to be so stubborn?

-- -- -- -- --

De Killer was feeling much better. When he had first heard the news of Edgeworth's injury, he had been quite upset. It placed him in a delicate situation. The 'not guilty' verdict had not yet been given, meaning his aftercare was incomplete and his reputation still at stake.

But now all his problems were solved. It didn't matter that his first hostage, Ms. Maya Fey, had escaped in the confusion of the police's attack because now he had an even better one. This Miles Edgeworth was a hostage that would influence both the defense and the prosecution. Instead of defeating him, the authorities' ill-planned raid had delivered the means to a favorable verdict on a silver platter. De Killer couldn't have been more pleased.

There was just the little matter of escape, but that was no challenge.

"Now, Mr. Prosecutor, if you would kindly put your hands in the air, then we will be off."

As he watched Edgeworth carefully raise his arms, de Killer couldn't help but be a little proud of his perfect hostage. He had noticed the prosecutor seemed scattered, uncharacteristically rattled during the initial stages of the raid. Since he was aware of the recent injury Edgeworth had suffered, de Killer suspected the man might still be wounded and would be an easy mark. He had been right. It was painfully easy to get the drop on him, and de Killer had an inkling it would have been easy even if he wasn't an experienced professional.

As they began to walk, taking slow, measured steps toward the edge of the circle of police and towards freedom; a small voice spoke up from within the crowd of officers.

"We can't just let them go, Nick! We have to do something to save Mr. Edgeworth. He saved me!"

-- -- -- -- --

Maya was distraught. She'd escaped from her captivity; the last thing she wanted was for her savior to take her place. Phoenix agreed with her. Though de Killer had been fairly civil with Maya, they both had a sinking suspicion that he would be a less gracious host when his hostage was an adult man instead of a teenage girl.

There was nothing Phoenix wanted to do more than help Miles, he just didn't know how. The police didn't seem to be acting, Franziska and Gumshoe hadn't dared to make a move yet, and the only weapon he had was the nightstick that Miles lent him before they left the police station. A thing which he had no idea how to use, at least not well enough to fight de Killer without dying himself.

With de Killer on high alert for treachery, none of them could step in. The only way to save Miles would be to distract de Killer and take his mind off the officers. But, what could he yell that would distract an assassin? A professional killer wouldn't be thrown off by a simple "objection!" There was nothing he could do...

Or was there?

A familiar weight in his pocket reminded him of what it was that got everyone into this situation in the first place. That was what he had, a tiny missile of metal and cool blue plastic. Six ounces of flying death and destruction with unlimited minutes and messaging. If it had given Miles a concussion through that hard head of his, just imagine what it would do to de Killer's stitched-up face.

Phoenix burst into action, desperate to attack before his target got out of range. Cell phone in hand, he wound up, wondered for a moment if his aim was really good enough to pull off the shot, then chucked his phone at the back of the assassin's head with all his might.

"De Killer, take that!"

The deadly phone soared across the circle of officers in a graceful arc, approaching its mark at near supersonic speeds. It looked as if it would work, as if the impact of phone on skull would beat the feared Shelly de Killer, but the assassin whipped around and snatched the flying device out of the air with his free hand.

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Attorney. That trick didn't work out so well for your friend last time. Why would you try it again? Don't you ever learn?" De Killer, keeping a firm hold on Edgeworth, shifted and trained his gun on Phoenix.

It was a terrifying experience to be in the sights of a master assassin, but Phoenix smiled his trademark roguish grin. The one that graced his face right before he pulled out a piece of decisive evidence. His distraction was a complete success, now it was up to the others.

-- -- -- -- --

De Killer's fingers tightened on the trigger. He so wanted to kill the accursed attorney Wright, but he couldn't. If he shot now, not only would he lose the 'not guilty' verdict he needed, but he could also start a firefight and lose his chance to escape with his hostage. It wasn't worth it now, perhaps another time.

As he lowered his pistol and turned his attention from Wright, he realized he'd made a fatal mistake. He had allowed himself to be distracted from his hostage and his surroundings. A fact that the female prosecutor, Franziska von Karma, reinforced with her whip. She lashed and numbed the arm holding Edgeworth, and anything else she could reach, allowing him to break free.

That was it, the turnabout.

Despite his weakened state, Miles was able to defend himself now that there was distance between him and his foe. He drew back and delivered an extremely powerful right hook that sent the surprised de Killer reeling into the circle of waiting police officers.

Seeing his chance, Detective Gumshoe raced forward and tackled the assassin, bringing him to the ground with the assistance of the entire police squad. De Killer fought, struggled with all of his considerable skill and might, but he was grievously outnumbered. The last thing de Killer heard before being taken into custody was a loud, victorious "WHOOOOOOOP!"

* * *

AN: I can only assume that from then on Matt was found guilty, de Killer was shown that Matt was going to betray him and goes to jail as well. (A golden opportunity for him to get his revenge on Matt.) And everyone else lives happily ever after. Except for Franziska, Gumshoe, and Edgeworth, since they're all still wounded. But yes, a generally happy ending.

And the moral of this story is: Don't mess with the von Karmas.

* * *


	28. Flawed

Disclaimer: I should probably be doing some research instead of typing this right now... Curse my procrastinating ways! 

AN: Agh... I can't believe it, but it's happened. After writing him so much, and studying his character so long, I find I... I actually... Ugh, I can't say it. Hold on. I find I actually have begun to like Matt Engarde. As in, he's one of my favorite characters now. It hurts to admit, but you know the villains are always the coolest.

Oh yeah, before I forget: This is set well before case four. Matt doesn't even know Celeste at this point. For my purpose, the She I speak of is a she. I say the D-word, yeah the big D-bomb, like, twice in this chapter. If you think you're mature enough to handle that, then go ahead and read it, dude.

* * *

**Flawed**

Not a day went by that he didn't think of it. Not a single morning that Matt didn't stand in front of the bathroom mirror and rage over what she'd done to him.

There were only a few people who knew about his scars and, thanks to Matt's brilliant acting, they thought he'd "gotten over it", accepted his injury and moved on. If they could only see the devastated look on Matt's face each morning, the sheer disbelief as he inspected the knotty, crosshatched scars before combing his hair into place to conceal his marred face. If only they could see that, they would know Matt had most certainly not recovered, he had not moved on.

How could he when there was such a blight, such a huge reminder of her treachery carved into his face?

Then again, there was no reason for those in the know to think the scars had any meaning behind them. Matt had told the doctors the injuries had come from a minor car accident and they had believed him, because he was rich. No one suspected the grievous wounds were the result of an ugly incident, a horrible betrayal. Indeed the single, soul-shattering betrayal that had cemented Matt's transformation from the breezy, lighthearted personality of his youth into the sadistic, manipulating monster he was presently.

To this day he reeled at the fact that she, his sweet, fluffy little girl, would have ruined him like this.

Matt had done everything for her, everything! He found her (back when he was kind and stupid) on the streets. It had been a rainy day and she was soaked. She just looked so helpless and pathetic that Matt felt he should help her.

Besides, she was really cute, and it never hurts to have a cute girl in your debt...

He brought her into his house, put a roof over her head. At first he treated her like a guest, giving her the best his house could offer under the agreement that her presence was only temporary, but as she grew on him he treated her even better. It scared Matt that he'd ever been so moronically naive, but he treated her like a princess! He gave her the best rooms in the house, fed her only the finest gourmet foods, and purchased extravagant gifts for her idle amusement. He even renovated his home to make sure she had easy, total access to every area.

She stayed with Matt, leading him on and pretending to be his darling little angel, for two years, before she bothered to show her true face.

Matt could never forget that day, no matter how hard he tried. Not that he did try. The experience, although painful, had been useful. It taught him that the heart was the best target to attack. That feelings, and the people attached to them, are easy to play. Even when those feelings belonged to him.

---------------

On the day of the betrayal, Matt had been kept late at the studio shooting night scenes for Nickel Samurai and hadn't gotten home until well after the time his angel was used to eating dinner. As soon as he walked in the front door she was there, crying for attention and food.

Though it would have annoyed him in the beginning, after two years together Matt knew not to let her make her own food. A chef she was not and any attempts to get herself a meal would result in disastrous messes the he would have to clean up. Matt rushed to the kitchen and hurriedly made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After gobbling down his own, meager supper he started on hers. Matt knew that grilled salmon and tuna was her favorite dish, so he pulled out the ingredients and set to work.

It was then, once he finished the meal, that he somehow sensed something was wrong. As he set the plate down on the table before her, Matt felt a brief prickling at the base of his neck. A premonition of danger that his actor acquaintance, Maguire, would have called his "spider sense."

Matt remembered glancing around, trying to figure out what made him so uncomfortable, then looking back to his "sweet little girl" and finding her still dutifully inspecting her meal. She always did that to make sure it was fit for her to eat and it was the only thing about her that annoyed Matt. She made it seem like his cooking wasn't good enough for her, a veiled insult that he didn't appreciate after the trying day he'd had at work.

After almost ten minutes of her scrutinizing his food, Matt got fed up. He tried to say something; whether it was "is there something wrong?" or "fine, then make your own damn dinner" he didn't recall. What he did remember was he never finished the phrase. His "adorable little pet" had apparently found fault with his offering and lunged at him, raking her tiny, sharp, perfectly manicured claws across his face.

Matt never thought something so small could be so strong, but Shoe's skinny kitty arms were solid, sinewy muscle and claw, fueled by the power of feline indignation. It was almost a full five minutes before he was able to break her grip and dislodge her from her perch, in which time her scalpel-like teeth and claws had torn his beautiful face to shreds.

Matt flung her into the plastic carrier (velvet lined) that he used to take her to the vet and ran into the bathroom to check out the damage, which was just as, if not more, horrific than he'd expected. Most of the slices were deep but would heal nicely given enough time. The set of huge gashes and chunks that Shoe had ripped from around his eye was a different matter all together. She's been so thorough, so ferocious in her attack that Matt knew it was only dumb luck that saved him from being blinded.

Only once the adrenaline rush began to diminish and his vision started to blur did Matt remember that he should call an ambulance before he passed out from blood loss. Opening up his wristwatch cell phone (affectionately nicknamed "Glitch" by more actor acquaintances) Matt dialed 911, gave what he hoped was an accurate account of the attack and his address, then hung up and stumbled across the house to unlock the front door before passing out in the foyer.

He awoke the next day in the intensive care unit at the Hotti Clinic, his head wrapped in more bandages than Boris Karloff wore in _The Mummy_ and an IV in his arm. A couple hours after he woke someone from the studio, Matt thought she said her name was Celeste, came by to inform him that Shoe had been put under observation and did not show any symptoms of rabies. She had also, when given the chance, devoured eight large bowls of kibble. It seemed that Matt had forgotten to feed her that morning before leaving for work. When he returned, she must have been starving and burning with kitty wrath.

That was, however, absolutely no excuse for her to betray him like that. One lousy meal that he forgot, after two years of pampering. Damn fickle cat.

---------------

Matt kept Shoe around after the incident. Despite her two-faced, backstabbing, conniving, treasonous tendencies, she was still an adorable, fluffy cat who helped to portray him as an all-around nice guy. After all, what bad boy celebrity has a pet kitten? Shoe was good for PR, and much more tolerable than whatever ditzy blond girlfriend-of-the-week he might decide to pick up. Mostly because Shoe couldn't talk. Petting her was also a good way to relieve stress after Corrida really pissed him off.

She did him a lot of good, but he never forgot. She was the reason he was scarred, the reason he would always have to hide half his face. Matt may have still let Shoe live under his roof, but he never forgave her, and he swore to never buy her the fancy cat food she loved so much. That's right, no more salmon. Never, ever again.

* * *

AN: Oh, yes... I don't believe Shoe's gender was ever specified in the game, but I think Shoe makes a fine she. And, since her being female is what makes this piece work, Shoe is a lady. Also, if anyone can spot and explain my three painfully obvious TV and movie references in the chapter, they'll receive this fantastic prize! An amazing... Well, truth is you won't get squat, but you'll prove yourself a film nerd.

Thanks to Shadow Phantazy for my inspiration! Without your random, offhand remark I would never have come up with this.


	29. Ruined

Disclaimer: "Once the number three, being the third number, be reached then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who being naughty in my sigh, shall snuff it." - Another Monk, from Monty Python and the Holy Grail 

AN: Ah, Ini and/or Mimi Miney... Is it just me, or does the Phoenix Wright series really love characters who are completely two-faced? I don't mean just hiding their true motives, I mean hiding a completely different persona, like Yonni, Angel, Mimi, and Matt do.

* * *

****

**Ruined**

Mimi Miney sat quietly in her cell. The remorse she displayed earlier at the end of her trial had dulled, leading her into a mild depression. After all, it wasn't every day that you realize your life is ruined.

Tired of moping, Mimi leaned back against the cold cinderblock wall behind her and began to seethe. Anger poured off of her in torrents strong enough to intimidate even the trained, hardened guards that patrolled the prison corridors. Not that they needed to worry. The vast and immutable rage was directed at two specific men and two men only. The first, and recipient of the most ire, was Dr. Grey. The second was Phoenix Wright.

As far as she was concerned, Wright's only problem was being so horribly stubborn. If the man had just known when to back off, she wouldn't be in her current situation. However, Mimi couldn't really blame him. The young girl she had framed, Maya, seemed almost like a little sister to Wright. Had their places been reversed, Mimi was sure she would have fought just as fiercely to save Ini.

The doctor was an entirely different story. To be honest, Mimi was glad she killed him. Any sadness displayed at her trial was due to the fact that she had framed an innocent girl, not that the old money-grubbing Dr. Grey had gotten what he deserved. That man had destroyed her life, and he had the utter gall to do it twice!

The first time, his selfishness led him to drug her. She lost her little sister, her own identity, her beautiful new sports car... All because he was worried about the reputation of his precious clinic. The trauma of the accident, the painful facial restoration surgeries, the horror of usurping her sister's life, Mimi had withstood it all in hopes of one day getting her revenge. She had been utterly patient, then that stupid man had to go and ruin everything, waste all her efforts by trying to contact her ghost.

He was willing to disturb her supposed eternal slumber to try and get her to sign a confession... Was he an idiot?

Mentally ranting about her sheer hatred for Grey did Mimi a lot of good. It wasn't as cathartic as voicing her opinions aloud, but the last time she did that the guards had threatened to call the prison psychiatrist. Her choice words for the doctor's ghost had been very choice indeed.

Still, no matter how much she struggled and railed against her fate, there wasn't much she could do to change her situation. The date of her appeal was set for two weeks' time. Until then, she was trapped in her cell. Alone with precious little to do to take her mind off what was truly bothering her. For all her ranting and fury, Mimi found she couldn't distract herself from the one thing that truly mattered in her life.

Her poor, poor hat... It was absolutely shredded.

With a deep sigh, Mimi slumped over onto her side, making full use of the cell's uncomfortable little cot. Her eyes fixed on the light bulb above her head as she slowly reached a hand up and pulled off her beloved hat. Inspecting it against the light, Mimi could clearly see all the holes, rips, scratches, and stretch marks she had inflicted on the smooth white leather. If she looked close enough she could make out a faint imprint of her own (her sister's!) face in the crown of the cap, complimented by the deep bite marks she'd left around the edges.

The stress of the trial caused her to abuse it so, and now it was falling apart. That hat, the last real memento she had of her sister, was falling apart and it was all her fault. That was the worst part, she had no one to blame for the hat's destruction but herself.

Clutching the cool leather tightly, Mimi gave it another once-over before replacing it reverently on her head.

Her poor hat... It was ruined.

* * *

AN: Did anyone else notice that Ini/Mimi has a stylized "Om" on her shirt? 


	30. Missing

Disclaimer: It's amazing how much more you can appreciate a movie after reading the actual script. 

AN: I feel sorry for Gumshoe. Poor scruffy always ends up with the short end of the stick. This is set a couple months after the fourth case.

* * *

****

**Missing**

Detective Gumshoe was feeling down. As if the overcast, chilling autumn day wasn't enough, he had this to deal with. Heaving a sigh, he stepped over to the chalk outline where the forensics experts were taking measurements and searching for clues. For once it wasn't the gruesome nature of the crime being investigated that depressed him so. It was his coat.

This would be the first murder case he investigated in his new trench coat.

It still felt like a betrayal to his old green, but the feeling was almost part of the routine by now. In the last few months he'd gone through more coats than he had in his entire life. With every new case there was something that happened to irreparably damage his clothes and the coat was always first to go. Knife slashes, bullet holes. Sections charred off in fires or permanently bloodstained. It seemed as if he was destined to have one coat and one coat only. After losing his perfect green trench coat, nothing else would suffice.

Thinking back to that night months ago, the night after Matt Endgarde's conviction and their victory dinner, he remembered wondering if Ms. von Karma was ever going to return his beloved coat, or if she even had it. After he found out she'd left the country and had thrown out his coat (she probably thought it was too scruffy to save), he'd rushed to the airport, hoping against hope that it was still lying in whatever can she'd pitched it in. He had arrived to find the janitors had been exceptionally efficient, every can had been emptied. He didn't give up though! He dug through the dumpsters outside the airport for hours before he was forced to accept that his coat was nowhere to be found.

It just wasn't fair.

He missed the heavy green canvas that never seemed to stain or get damaged, no matter what happened. He missed the unique smell it had picked up over the years, a subtle mix of ramen, tobacco, cordite and blood. He especially missed the fifty dollars he had tucked away in the coat's inner pocket.

That coat had been like a brother to him. It had stuck with him through thick, thin, and all the hard cases he'd ever taken as a detective. His coat had been a good friend... and it still owed him fifty bucks.

* * *

AN: Gumshoe wears green. Green is his color, not the off-white he wears later... Honestly...


	31. What Happened? Take Two

Disclaimer: The Magic Eight-Ball, though wise, is not infalliable. 

AN: All right, I had to write this. Phoenix needed his turn. If you wish, take a look back at the first "What Happened?" and checkout some of the parallels that got tucked in there. I honestly didn't try for it, they just showed up. I guess I'm a bit of a formula writer when it comes to hospital scenes.

* * *

**What Happened?: Take Two**

"Ugh, what happened? Where am I?"

Phoenix's head hurt. Not a nice, petite ache that could be banished by a few aspirin. (Though he wouldn't have minded gulping down a few handfuls of the little pills to get rid of it.) No, his head felt like it was on fire. Like his brain was trying to break its way out to freedom. Like his skull was the unlucky watermelon at a Gallagher show.

He hadn't felt this bad since he'd gotten a concussion as a little kid. Even the fire extinguisher that Wellington lambasted him with hadn't had this kind of effect.

To make it worse, not only did Phoenix feel miserable, but he was stuck lying down in an utterly strange, dark room. Though he was disoriented, in pain, and completely without a clue, Phoenix tried to make some sense of his situation. Each possibility was more frightening than the last.

Option one: He had been severely injured and was in a coma. That would explain the pain and darkness, right? If his eyes were shut, then it'd be dark. And didn't they always say coma patients were actually aware...? No! He vowed to stop thinking so negatively, then promptly broke his word.

Option two: Maybe one of the many enemies he'd made during his career had come back to get revenge. Hit him upside the head then spirited him away to wherever he was now. It happened often enough in law dramas and movies, who was to say it couldn't happen in real life too?

That was a scary thought. What little experience Phoenix had had with kidnapping and been anything but pleasant and- Oh no. Phoenix's blood ran cold at the new thought that squirmed its way into his head. If he'd just been kidnapped, then sooner or later Phoenix knew he could have escaped. He might've had a desk job, but he was a fairly fit, strong man. Given the opportunity Phoenix could have fought and ran from his captors, but...

What if an old enemy of his had actually sicced de Killer on him?

Option three: He could be dead.

That was not a happy thought. In fact, as thoughts go, that was about as unhappy a thought as you could get. Phoenix, like any sane person, did not want to be dead. He leapt up from where he was lying in an almost-panic, intending to get a better idea of his surroundings, only to stumble into what seemed to be a nightstand and fall over, quickly becoming entangled in what seemed to be a series of... Bed sheets?

Phoenix could hear the sound of footsteps rushing towards him, undoubtedly alerted by the crash he made when he toppled to the floor, and turned his attention to wriggling free of the twisted sheets. He didn't know who was coming, but if it turned out that option two was correct then he didn't want to be trapped on the floor when they showed up.

The door swung open just as Phoenix finished shrugging off the final sheet, casting a column of harsh fluorescent light across the room. Once Phoenix's dazzled eyes adjusted, he looked up to see a slim woman standing in the doorway. The lady flicked on the overhead light and gave him an appraising look that he returned, with interest. She was wearing a white top and skirt that seemed like they should be familiar, but were utterly alien. As he continued to gawk at her, the woman turned her head and called to someone else outside the room.

"The patient is awake. He seems alert, but disoriented. Go find that girl he came in with, maybe she could help."

Patient? Phoenix was stunned. If this woman called him a patient, then could he actually be...? He glanced around the room and saw a bed, chair, overturned nightstand, and by his foot a pen printed with the name "Hotti Clinic." It was just a hospital room. Phoenix relaxed, he had been wrong on all accounts. From what he'd seen he was alive, healthy, and safely recovering where the only thing he needed to worry about was that creepy pink-haired guy who claimed to be Dr. Hotti. Sure, he still couldn't remember what injury it was that landed him there, but all his fears had been unfounded.

Phoenix closed his eyes and sat heavily on the edge of the bed as he took a few deep breaths to calm down completely. He could hear the woman, who he assumed was a nurse, talking to someone out in the hall. Though the entire exchange eluded him, Phoenix was able to pick out a few snippets of conversation.

"Yes, he appears to be healthy...not fully recovered...may see him now...don't be too rough."

There were only a few seconds for Phoenix to wonder who his visitor was, and why in the world they would be "rough" with him, before he was viciously attacked. The mysterious figure raced across the room in a purple blur and caught him in the strongest flying hug Phoenix ever received.

"Nick, Nick! You're awake!" Maya gave him another squeeze. "The nurse said you were okay, but you don't look so good. Here, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"T-two? Maya, I can't breathe..." Phoenix gasped. The young spirit medium instantly let go and waited for him to catch his breath before sitting down next to him instead. "Maya, why am I here? I don't remember getting in an accident... What happened?" Maya's jaw hit the floor.

"You don't remember?! But it was so cool! We got to ride in a helicopter ambulance and everything!" She noticed Phoenix was staring at her blankly, so she paused and started again. "It happened just earlier tonight. You came to visit and watch a movie with me and Pearl, then we had dinner."

Phoenix nodded, he could remember that. Maya had gone back to Kurain Village for the week, and then invited him to come watch the new movie she picked up at the train station with her. She hadn't told him it would actually be a two-disc DVD set of old Steel Samurai episodes... He should have known better, but dinner was good. They had sushi out on the Winding Way and watched the sun set while Pearl played in the garden with her...

"Agh! No way!" Phoenix's shout made Maya jump."

"What is it Nick? Do you remember now?"

Phoenix nodded again, he was too shocked to answer properly. After Pearl finished her dinner, she went down into the garden to play with her ball while he and Maya talked up on the Way. It was a simple, innocent game. She would throw the ball in the air, kick it around, and catch it again. Phoenix remembered how impressed he'd been with her skill. From what he was, Pearl definitely had what it took to be a basketball or soccer star.

Then one kick got away from her.

Pearl got more and more aggressive with the strength of her kicks as her game went on until one went wild and she wasn't able to catch it again. The rogue kick, Phoenix remembered, bounced off the far wall of the Way and rebounded. It hit him right in the face.

The impact was so strong it knocked him for a loop and made him stumble back a couple steps, right into the empty sushi set. The pile of empty dishes slipped, his feet flew out from under him, and he cracked the back of his skull on the floor when he fell.

From what Maya said just moments ago, he could reliably guess that she called an ambulance after he passed out and flew back to the city with him. She must've been waiting for him to wake up the entire time. It was sweet, but a little embarrassing too. Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney, done in by a playground ball...

"Maya..." He said, reaching to scratch the back of his head and wincing at the large bump he found there. "You have got to get Pearl a softer ball."

* * *

AN: Pearl is dangerous, and that ball is a lethal weapon! Seriously, think back to your elementary school days. Did you ever get hit in the face with one of those heavy red kick balls? Man, they're painful... Worse than a dropkicked soccer ball to the throat. (That's happened to me too. On multiple occasions.) 


	32. Someone's Got To Do It

Disclaimer: Only... Nineteen pages left until I need to start a new notebook! I give it three days, a week at most. Hooray for hypergraphia.

AN: This is something they never ever address in the games, though you do see several instances of it in both AA and JFA. I always wondered...

* * *

**Someone's Got To Do It**

Horrific. There was no other way to describe the scene that awaited the remaining cast of the Berry Big Circus. It was almost too cruel that, after all they went through with Russell's murder and the trial, they should return to find such a terrible welcome.

After putting their circus lives on hold for a couple days, the troupe had to get back into the swing of things and Ringmaster Moe said, in his usual pun-laden manner, the best way to do that was to have a "clean" start. (Aha aha aha aha!) He had no idea what torment that simple statement would condemn him and his fellow performers to.

The morning after the end of Max's trial, all the denizens of the Berry Big Circus reported to the cafeteria, buckets of soapy water and mops in hand. Their plan was to clean up quick, make breakfast, then get out to the big top and start practicing; but even the simplest of schemes rarely go as planned. Whatever they were expecting to clean up, it wasn't this. They weren't prepared to deal with the catastrophe that was the cafeteria and kitchen.

The first, most obvious problem was the smell. It was the pungent odor unique to three-day-old, unrefrigerated leftovers. Unpleasant. The next issue was the abundance of flies that swarmed over everything. Where they all came from in the middle of winter was a mystery, but there they were, happily feasting on whatever rank and putrefying food they could find. There were so many of them that their wings sounded akin to a small chainsaw orchestra playing deforestation's greatest hits.

Moe felt incredible remorse for bringing this job down on his friends, Max looked nauseous before they even began, Regina had to leave, and Ben and Trilo just stood off to the side, looking surly, as usual. And that wasn't even the worst of their problems!

After the stench and the flies there was still a wagonload of other things they would have to deal with. Broken glass on the floor, the now-fuzzy decomposing remains of the meal they'd eaten three days prior that seemed to be developing into a new and alien lifeform never before seen on the planet Earth (straight into the incinerator with that), washing the caked-on scum off the dishes, mopping the floor, disinfecting every square centimeter of the room three times over, update the bulletin board... The list went on and on and on until Moe realized what would have to be done. There was no other choice.

If no one else would do it, it was all up to him.

With a heavy, hopeless sigh and his head hung low in defeat, Moe picked up his bucket, mop, and spray disinfectant and trundled into the scummy cafeteria. He carefully avoided the broken glass as he crossed the room, set down his cleaning supplies, and used the phone on the back wall to dial the local cleaning service. It would be pricey, but there was no way he and the rest of the troupe were going to be able to do the job. Just standing in the room made Moe want to take a five-hour shower.

Once everyone shook off their heebie-jeebies and Max looked like he would be able to hold down some food, they went out for breakfast and left the cleaners with plenty of room to work.

* * *

AN: Really, who cleaned up that disgusting mess when they all got back to the circus? Another thought along those lines, who cleans up after Money and Regent? It's certainly not Regina. Moe's the ringmaster now, so he wouldn't do it, and Ben and Trilo aren't that cooperative... That leaves nobody but Max.

* * *


	33. Zoned Out

Disclaimer: 

AN: What can I say here...? Ah, I know! I'm thinking of starting another fic like Loose Ends, but for the events of Ace Attorney. I've just got to work up a few chapters and get a title, and I'll be good to go! But for now, read this.

* * *

**Zoned Out**

_'All the world is a stage, and on that stage one performer is king. He is a man of unsurpassed talent who fought his way up from humble beginnings to win the International Grand Prix._

_'A man who has become an icon, an idol to wild hordes of screaming, beautiful young ladies across the globe. (Yet is ever faithful to his beloved wife, Regina Berry.) A man whose operatic stylings took the world by storm. He is the one, the only..._

_'Trilo Quist.'_

"Hey, Trilo, are you awake?"

Ben's voice cut through Trilo's head; shaking him from his daydream and reminding him that he was not on stage at the International Grand Prix, listening to an announcer extol his virtues as he won for a third time, but was actually still standing outside the circus' entrance, waiting for his love to exit the big top.

"Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I'm awake. Now you be quiet, we don't want you scaring Regina." Trilo huffed, trying to cover up the fact that he'd been a little... distracted. Trilo Quist was sharp as a tack, always, and it wouldn't do to have rumors to the contrary floating around.

The two lapsed into silence again as they waited in the freezing weather. Ben had always told Trilo that if he loved Regina, he should just march up to her and tell her how he felt. That advice was never listened to, of course. You can't just walk up to a lady and say "I love you, marry me." You have to be suave about it, romantic. Ben meant well, but he was Ben. He didn't get suave.

After a few minutes more of complete, soul-crushing silence Ben spoke up again. "Hey Trilo, what were you thinking about earlier?"

Trilo paused. Sure, he could answer "Why, just my outlandish dreams of worldwide acclaim and being more successful than Galactica" but would he? No.

"... Oh, nothing important..."

* * *

AN: I like Trilo. Can't say why, since he's a loud, obnoxious, creepy jerk. I just do. And you have to wonder, since Trilo has such a life of his own, what is it that dummies dream of? Do computers dream of when they're in "sleep" mode? Think on it. 


	34. An Objectionable Defeat

Disclaimer: Drunk driving is bad! And wrong. It's... Badong. Drunk driving is badong. 

AN: This one is inspired by something that Kawaii Usagi-Chan-San mentioned to me a very long time ago. It's actually the combination of two of her ideas into one, and a little follow-up on one of my earlier chapters. I hope it turned out well.

_**Edit: Peer, I really wish you'd left a way for me to contact you because I think you're right. Now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure Phoenix does use his left hand to object. I went through and changed that, so thanks for the heads-up. **_

_**On the issue of Edgeworth however, you have to remember that as Prosecutor, it's his job to get a guilty, whether he believes it's right or not. In past cases he may have tacitly agreed with and helped Phoenix out, but in a case where the Defense is doing so hideously, it would have been obvious that Edgeworth lost on purpose, if he did lose. I'm not up-to-date on all aspects of the law, but I believe purposefully throwing a case would not only get the court to call a mistrial, but is rather illegal and would get Edgeworth severely penalized. With those consequences, our dear Edgey would likely be forced to step away from his gut instinct for one case and build up a moral vacuum, as he was no doubt taught in law school or by von Karma. That's just my opinion on how it would work though, I just wanted to say that I did consider the possibility of Edgeworth finding this case distasteful before I started writing. **_

_**Hm... Yep. Thanks again for the heads-up! Hope I haven't scared anyone off...**_

* * *

**An Objectionable Defeat**

Phoenix felt awful. He knew the day would finally come when he would be defeated, in a way he had been looking forward to it. His first lost case, a benchmark in every attorney's career. But now, as the end of the trial and a "Guilty" verdict loomed before him, Phoenix refused to give in. It wasn't just his natural tendency to never surrender that kept him going, it was slowly simmering frustration and outrage.

He refused to lose because of a idiotic injury, something that had nothing at all to do with the case; especially not when he had actually come to court prepared for once!

Rare as it was, in this case Phoenix had been able to scrape together all the facts and evidence he needed to construct the ultimate defense, perfect and unshakeable by any witness the prosecution could produce because it was based on the simple fact that his client was indeed innocent. Through the entire trial Phoenix had been able to foresee and counter every move Edgeworth made, but he was still losing, thanks to the injuries that kept him from being his normal self.

For once he hadn't needed to bluff a single time in an entire trial, and not only was all his effort going to be wasted, an innocent man was going to go to prison. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just!

Phoenix loosened his tie with his unencumbered right hand and tried to hide a nervous gulp. True to Maya's prediction, Edgeworth was "beating the snot out of him". He sensed his junior partner shifting uncomfortably next to him and immediately felt guilty. She probably felt responsible for their plight.

Weeks ago, after Maya got thoroughly fed up with walking everywhere and riding the bus, she started a campaign of pushing and needling until Phoenix was finally forced to give in and take driving lessons. Diligent study, meaning a once-over of the manual from the DMV, got him the learner's permit, and so, as Maya again insisted, it was time to start practicing for his road test. That suggestion, along with some downright bad luck, was what got them and their client into such a mess.

Just three days ago Phoenix was out practicing driving after dark when a driver, the police found out the man was drunk when they arrived on the scene later, swerved out of oncoming traffic and ran them both into a lamppost. Amazingly, the drunk staggered away from the crash unharmed. Phoenix felt he got off lucky with just a broken wrist and a bruised larynx...

"Nick! Nick, are you paying attention?" Maya hissed, nudging him out of the bitter memory. "I think Mr. Edgeworth's about to give you a chance to object. You should be ready."

With a nod, Phoenix focused on the points Edgeworth presented. Sure enough, within minutes he saw and seized an opportunity to yell "Objection!" but thanks to his injuries it was hardly impressive. Instead of the rich, robust cry he usually gave, Phoenix called out in a plaintive, raspy voice that rose just barely above a stage whisper. It was the best he could do with his wounded vocal cords. Instead of forcefully and dramatically jabbing his finger at his opponent Phoenix kept his arm still, held close to his body in its sling so as not to aggravate his injured wrist.

Hearing himself give such a weak objection made Phoenix cringe, and the whole courtroom winced with him. Many of the people sitting up in the gallery had seen him in action before and know how completely the poor attorney was off his game. Across the court, Edgeworth showed no traces of the usual satisfaction he displayed when he held the upper hand. In fact, he looked downright miserable, as if he couldn't stand to see his worthy opponent and friend in such a state.

The judge, only somewhat completely oblivious, gazed over at the defense with some pity in his eye, but not much.

"Yes? What do you object to?"

A very good question, and one that Phoenix really had no answer to. In his rush to stop Edgeworth from winning Phoenix had, as usual, jumped in without thinking. At times like this there was only one thing to do. So much for getting through a trial without bluffing. He had used the gambit he was thinking of before, and it hadn't worked then either, but maybe this time...

"I object, to object!" Phoenix's raspy voice was slightly stronger, bolstered by the need to sound resolute.

The judge frowned, looking for a moment as if he was considering letting the outlandish claim stand, then pounded his gavel. "Objection overruled. I find the defendant... Guilty."

Phoenix slumped back against the wall behind him. He couldn't believe he actually lost, all because he couldn't muster a decent shout. It hurt, but he should have expected it. Ace or not, an attorney is nothing without their objection.

* * *


	35. The Obvious Answer

Disclaimer: Remember, when it comes to powermetal, the more epic it is, the better it is. 

AN: All right, I know I said I wouldn't do any chapters from Ace Attorney and focus solely on Justice For All, but I'm thinking of going back on that and making this an AA/JFA fic. It would give me more material and generally add extra win to the story. So this is the test run for AA material; depending on how I think it turns out, it may be the only one. It takes place during case two of Ace Attorney, I'm sure you'll all pinpoint exactly when almost immediately. Also, the bits of dialog I have here are the actual quotes from the game. Yippee!

* * *

**The Obvious Answer**

How could he have not seen it before?

Phoenix silently cursed himself for being so inattentive. If he had just been a little less thickheaded he would have realized why Grossberg refused to help Maya days ago. The signs had been obvious, screaming in his face the whole time, and he ignored them. But, luckily for all involved, there was one sign that finally got through to Phoenix.

He couldn't have ignored the writing on the wall in White's office, even if he tried. That painting... It was unmistakably Grossberg's. The only question was why was that gaudy mess of still-drying oil paint hanging in Bluecorp instead of Grossberg's office?

Once he asked that, all the pieces began coming together. Phoenix had hated that painting since he saw it. Never in his wildest nightmares did he expect it to be the main pillar of evidence that would allow him to straighten out and connect all the facts of the case, but now everything was falling into place. All the ugly snippets of information he'd gleaned, convoluted and folded in on themselves like a giant tangle of hemp twine, were beginning to obediently unravel and organize; weaving themselves into a lovely macrame wall hanging of a case. One as complex as could be, with its roots going back fifteen years to the DL-6 incident.

That painting was the key.

The last time Phoenix had seen it, Grossberg was steadfastly refusing to part with it. The portly attorney had made it clear that money would not sway him, turning down Phoenix's unproposed offer of vast quantities of imaginary funds. (Three million, for that? Is he mad?) If material wealth was not a motivator, then White would not have bought the painting. There had to be some other reason as to why Grossberg's beloved oil painting was no longer with him.

After looking at the situation from a different angle, Phoenix did come up with something. It was almost too unbelievable to be true, but it was the only possible explanation of why White had Grossberg's painting. Fact, it seemed, truly was stranger than fiction. Of course, he couldn't just sit back and assume his solution was correct. Phoenix needed proof, and the only way to get it was to confront Grossberg.

"Mr. Grossberg, I know Mr. White and you are connected somehow!"

"C-connected, you say?" The elder attorney looked more than distressed. The way Grossberg's voice shook cemented Phoenix's suspicions. He was on his way to uncovering a deep, dark, blackmail-worthy that Grossberg would have preferred to keep quiet.

"Yes! And I know just what it is..." Phoenix was sorry that he had to dredge this up for Grossberg, but he needed the other attorney to talk to him. Maya's life, and his life as well, depended on it!

"You two are lovers!"

* * *


	36. Utterly Clichéd

Disclaimer: Remember that Batman vs. Predator comic I mentioned back in chapter twenty-two's disclaimer? Well, I've found something that trumps it: Superman vs. Alien. It's horrifying. 

AN: I've gotten suggestions to do chapters about how Phoenix felt during the fourth case of JFA, his emotional ups and downs when he's forced to choose between the girls, ect, ect... I realized, however, I had no idea how to make each one work on its own, so I shoved them all together and threw in a little something of my own. Then I realized what I came up with was bloody depressing (like a folk ballad!) so I chucked it all out and rewrote the chapter with only that little something of my own! Thanks for the suggestions though.

* * *

**Utterly Clichéd**

It wasn't until after the fact, after he and Edgeworth (and their SWAT team escort) forced their way into Matt Engarde's home, that Phoenix realized the enormity of what had happened. Not until after they kicked down the doors and liberated Maya from that dingy wine cellar de Killer had been keeping her in did it connect just how much he failed her, everyone in fact, over the last few days. In the rush of adrenaline that accompanied Shoe's tell-tale meow there hadn't been room for any thoughts other than "I know where Maya is. I know and nothing is going to stop me from getting her back!" Once she was safe, however, the harsh facts of reality had plenty of time to slap his conscience around.

Poor Maya. She was just a little girl, and because of his reputation and legal skill she had become a target. Kidnapped, imprisoned, starved, and even threatened with death more than a few times as she told it... She'd gone through a genuine living hell and it was all his fault. It was so sick, so inhuman of de Killer; Phoenix couldn't stand it.

That day when he went to feed Shoe at Engarde's house... Phoenix could have saved Maya then, could have broken de Killer's hold over him and ended the whole fiasco in an instant, if only he had been quick enough to put together the clues. Maya had been literally just two rooms away. They had been so close and he just walked out...

But, above all else, the thing that preyed on Phoenix's mind the most was that all this suffering, all this effort to find out whodunit was absolutely useless. Who committed the murder? The answer, in this case, was so obvious it was a common cliché! If Phoenix had only been thinking when he met that creepy de Killer at Engarde's house he could have left, alerted the police, then come back with the SWAT team then to make the arrest and save Maya. All the trauma of the last few days in court could have been avoided because this time the cliché was true.

This time, the butler really did do it!

* * *

AN: In closing, I can't have been the only one to think of this.

* * *


	37. Mysteriously Reforged

Disclaimer: Work steals your soul!

AN: You see that disclaimer? It's totally true. Work steals your soul and drains the inspiration right outta ya. Not having the game in-hand and ready to play at a moment's notice hurts too, but not as much as work. Anyway, here's the next chappie! Enjoy!

* * *

**Mysteriously Reforged**

Miles Edgeworth stepped off the bus at the stop in Kurain Village. He was dressed impeccably, as always, and (aside from the slightly rumpled condition of his suit and the small spot on his cravat from where he'd spilled a drop of tea) there was no outward indication of what an arduous trip he had just taken. Except for his dour glare and the severe frown plastered across his face. To a stranger it would seem that he was merely irritated; but to one who knew Edgeworth well like Phoenix, it was clear that the prosecutor was well beyond 'irritated' and just short of tiptoeing over the brink into 'utterly enraged'.

"Wright, tell me, what piece of evidence was so important that you had me come all the way out here? Especially when I know you're perfectly capable of bringing anything you wish me to see to my office."

There were many way that Phoenix could have replied, he realized that later, but at that moment the only thing he could manage was a loud gulp and the whimpering thought "Scary!" He knew that if it had been Gumshoe who called Edgeworth out to Kurain Village, that dangerous voice would be threatening dire pay cuts and demotions, along with being plain terrifying. No wonder Edgeworth was called the Demon Prosecutor...

"C-come on Edgeworth, it wasn't that bad of a trip, was it?" No answer. "Sorry I asked... I would've brought the jar to you, but Maya wouldn't let me take it out of the mansion. Ah, do you want to see it now or do you, uh, want a snack or something?" For some reason it was terribly surreal to ask Miles that. "Maya and Pearl made cookies, and I bet they could put on a pot of tea..."

A small hint of an almost-smile raced across Edgeworth's face at the mention of tea. It was more of a long-suffering grimace than a grin of good humor, but it was a start. Phoenix let out the breath he'd been holding and led the way to the Fey family manor.

-- -- -- -- --

An hour and a half later, after Miles shocked everyone assembled by drinking and enjoying Aunt Morgan's most bitter tea without any extra sweeteners, he and Phoenix stepped out onto the Winding Way.

"There it is." Phoenix pointed down the Way to a cracked blue jar sitting on a small stand.

Edgeworth stepped closer and examined the jar. It was nothing spectacular, just an average pot that had been broken and glued back together by Pearl Fey, if he remembered correctly from what he'd read in Franziska's records. The girl did a good job of reconstructing it. Aside from a few gaps where the shards of ceramic had been too tiny to replace or lost, the pieces fit together perfectly. Cracks could be seen snaking across the jar's surface, but for the most part it was whole and restored.

"What is so special about this, Wright? It's just an unremarkable jar. It couldn't possibly be as important as you claim."

"It's very important!" Wright corrected, sounding more than a little indignant. "This jar is supposed to hold the spirit of Ami Fey, Maya and Pearl's-" Edgeworth held up a hand to silence him.

"I know what it is. While I may not have been present at the court proceedings, I read Franziska's notes on the case and am aware of what happened. Now, tell me what you wish me to see before we waste any more time."

Phoenix was taken aback for half a second, but recovered quickly. Of course Miles would know what the jar was, it was the man's nature to know every obscure fact ever aired in a courtroom, ever. He shouldn't have expected anything less from Miles Edgeworth. One thing still bothered him though: If Edgeworth already knew the jar's history, then how could he not realize why it was special?

"Edgeworth, I want you to look very closely at that jar. Take in every detail and think about what you know, you'll figure it out."

Thoroughly peeved since he had already done just that, Edgeworth took another glance and answered with the air of one who is more than ready to strangle the nearest living thing, but too curious to actually do so.

"It was broken and put back together." Phoenix nodded. "Some smaller fragments are missing, but for the most part everything is in place."

Phoenix couldn't believe he had spotted something that Edgeworth had missed. It was finally time to reveal his hand.

"Okay, so you agree with me that the jar has been reassembled almost exactly as it was before it got broken, right? Same shape and everything?"

"I never saw it before it was accepted as evidence, but I must say yes. Ms. Fey did an excellent job of reconstructing it."

All right, that was it, the moment of truth! Phoenix almost started into his habitual action of tapping his hand against a copy of the court record, but stopped himself when he remembered he wasn't in the courtroom.

"Edgeworth, if that jar is in almost-pristine condition, why does it say 'I AM' instead of 'AMI'?"

It took a few seconds for the statement to sink in, but when it did Edgeworth froze. Without a podium to hit and lean on, he had no choice but to hold perfectly still or risk falling over.

"How did this happen, Wright?"

Phoenix shook his head. "I don't know, I'm as clueless as you are. When a jar breaks, it shatters into uniquely shaped shards that can only be put together one way. That's why it can be accepted as evidence in court. At least, that's how it should be." Edgeworth nodded dumbly; he was too stunned to stop Phoenix from explaining the already-familiar concept. "Pearl found some way around that fact and we haven't been able to figure out how."

Silence. Phoenix had said his piece and waited patiently for Edgeworth to absorb the message. After a few minutes, the prosecutor spoke up.

"Do you know what this means, Wright?" His tone was deadly serious and his demeanor just as scary as when he first arrived in Kurain. "This jar proves that there's yet another way for evidence to be... Forged." Edgeworth spat the word, looking slightly ill, like diner who finds an errant cockroach floating in their soup. Phoenix couldn't blame him.

"Yeah. I thought the Police Department should know, but I wasn't sure who to talk to. I don't really know anyone aside from you and Detective Gumshoe."

More silence. For Edgeworth, whose entire life and sense of self-worth had been shaken to the core by forged and falsified evidence, this revelation was the ultimate nightmare. Thanks to that little jar there was a whole new reason for him to doubt himself. Had any of the broken objects he used in the past been like this? Had he been using false evidence right and left and not even known it?

And here he thought his self-imposed exile had helped him to beat all these specters of doubt...

There was no choice. Edgeworth knew what he had to do. Holding his head high and radiating his most intimidating vibes, he turned to face Phoenix.

"Wright, I must have that jar." Phoenix wasn't expecting that.

"What? I can't just-" Edgeworth's patience was all but gone. This was a critical discovery, it couldn't just be ignored in some tiny backwater town! In dire circumstances like this, a minor rudeness like interrupting was easily excusable.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, it's not important Wright. I have to take that jar back to the city for analysis. If there's a way to slip evidence around the system, we must know about it and take action to prevent that. The integrity of the entire legal process is at stake!"

Faced with an exceptionally angry Edgeworth, the only thought in Phoenix's head was "Yikes!" Franziska's whip had been scary, and her father was just plain infernal, but compared to this terrifying side of Edgeworth, they were nothing. Phoenix couldn't help but wonder if his father had possessed the same impressive presence. It only made sense that a will that strong could have made Manfred von Karma stumble. Still, as intimidating as Edgeworth was, there was one little fact that kept Phoenix from folding.

"Hold it! I'd let you take Ami's jar if I could, but it's not mine to give away. It belongs to Maya."

That didn't slow Edgeworth in the slightest.

"Very well, then I'll ask her." Turning sharply on his heel, Miles shot off down the Way back to the Main Hall where Pearl and Maya were finishing up the last of the cookies. Phoenix watched him go, sadly shaking his head the whole time. He knew there was no way Miles would get the permission he asked for. If she hadn't trusted him, her dear friend Nick, with her family's precious heirloom, it was inconceivable that she would entrust it to the man she saw as distant and somewhat cold Mr. Edgeworth.

Taking one last look at the mysterious jar, Phoenix headed back to the Main Hall. He was definitely not looking forward to the argument that awaited him. As he walked he wondered, what sort of mess had he gotten himself into this time?

-- -- -- -- --

Edgeworth, Phoenix was convinced, was a master negotiator. He had taken what seemed like a fantastically impossible scenario and turned it into a reality, and he managed to do it all in under five minutes. With naught but a shrewd promise and a quick phone call, Miles had what he wanted.

The three of them stood in the Police Department's forensics lab, watching as the technicians began to analyze the pot, Maya's intense gaze practically burning holes in their pristine lab coats every second that the jar was out of her hands. She didn't like to let it go, but Mr. Edgeworth had made such an amazing offer... Four tickets to "_The Steel Samurai on Ice_," rinkside seats too! How could she resist?

* * *


	38. How'd She Know?

Disclaimer: I really need to play Phoenix Wright again. To do this, I'll probably have to quit being cheap and finally buy a DS... Curses!

AN: This is a sequel to Mysteriously Reforged and was totally inspired by a comic on Deviant Art. "And Key" by Hail-NekoYasha.

* * *

**How'd She Know?**

Miles Edgeworth, the unshakeable demon prosecutor, feared and respected by all in the legal profession as a paragon of self-control, was so stunned he nearly dropped the phone.

_'How did she know?'_ He thought he had kept his interest well hidden. _'How could she have possibly discovered that I...?'_ Miles shook his head, trying to clear out the distracting snippets of doubt that flashed through his mind. Stunned or not, it was indescribably rude to freeze up in shock during a telephone conversation.

From over the phone he heard a slight crackle of static and the girl's voice, sounding slightly worried, no doubt because of his momentary silence.

"Mr. Edgeworth, is something wrong? Oh, don't tell me, you probably have a case today, don't you? I'm sorry, I should have called earlier. I knew this was too short-notice..." The sheer disappointment in her voice was surprising. It was obvious she had planned on having him accompany them from the beginning.

Miles hated to be one to disappoint.

Glancing down at the datebook lying open on his desk, he made a choice. Technically, he was booked solid with meetings and appointments all day. However, none of the meetings truly required his presence, and the appointments were nothing important. He could easily send a memo and achieve the same results. And, most of all, this sounded like it would be fun. If there was one thing he needed, it was a break.

"No, no. Nothing's wrong, Ms. Fey. I was just checking my schedule. It seems we're both in luck; I didn't have much of anything to do today. Just some paperwork, but that can wait until tomorrow."

"So you can come?" Maya sounded almost ecstatic, the emotional swings that girl was capable of were truly astounding...

"Yes. Thank you for inviting me." Miles murmured somewhat absentmindedly as he drew a huge X through the day's page in his datebook. It was thoroughly enjoyable, he didn't do it nearly often enough. On the other end of the line he could hear Maya informing the others that he would attend ("He says he can come!" "Really? That's great! Did you hear that, Mr. Nick?") and bit back a chuckle.

"That's great, Mr. Edgeworth! We're at Nick's office now, but we should be leaving soon. Why don't you meet us at the arena in about... A half hour?"

"That sounds fine. Oh, Maya, do you mind if I bring a guest? I'll take care of his ticket myself."

"Of course not. The more the merrier, right?" Her tone was slightly confused, but sunny nonetheless. She probably wondered who he would be bringing. "We'll see you at the arena then, bye!"

Miles hung up, then picked up the receiver again and dialed the front desk in the lobby. The office's secretarial staff was exceptionally efficient, so he trusted they should be able to handle his request quickly.

"Hello, this is Edgeworth. Please cancel all my appointments for today, and inform those involved that I will not be attending any of the scheduled meetings either. They are to carry on without me. ... Yes, I'm feeling perfectly fine. ... I assure you, I'm not ill, but thank you for your concern. Something has come up that I must attend to." A chorus of surprised whispers came over the line and he wondered momentarily if they had put him on speakerphone. Still, he found it hard to blame them for their incredulity. Miles was well aware he of the workaholic reputation he had built up the years. "Oh, and if Detective Gumshoe is hanging about, send him up to my office. ... Yes, thank you."

Almost as soon as he hung up the phone, Edgeworth heard a knock on his door and looked up to see Gumshoe poke his head into the office. The secretarial staff was good. Miles made a mental note to give them all raises.

"You wanted to see me Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes, I'm giving you the day off." Miles explained, straightening a last few things on his desk to prepare to leave, and for something to do until Gumshoe found his voice again.

"A day off, sir? That's generous and all, but... Are you feelin' all right? You shouldn't be working if you're sick, Mr. Edgeworth, you should be home resting!" The detective looked quite upset, as if someone had told him all ramen noodles were now illegal contraband.

"I'm just fine, Detective Gumshoe. I'm taking the day off as well. Now, come with me, we're expected at the ice arena."

"The arena?" Gumshoe was more confused than ever. What was his boss planning? Why the ice arena of all places?

"Yes, we're going with Wright and the Feys to see The Steel Samurai on Ice."

-- -- -- -- --

Phoenix couldn't focus on the show. How could he be expected to when his rival, the mature and sophisticated (or so he had thought) Miles Edgeworth, was sitting a mere two seat to his right and seemed to be enjoying the performance just as much as Maya? It was just too surreal. Phoenix kept glancing down the row at regular (and short) intervals to make sure he hadn't been hallucinating the prosecutor's presence; and each time he did Edgeworth was still sitting there, bundled up in a long maroon coat a few shades darker than his suit with his trademark half-smile gracing his face.

Maya planned this, that much was certain. This was why she asked for four tickets instead of three. But, how could she have known that Edgeworth was a Steel Samurai fan? The idea was still so radical his brain was almost refusing to process it. How was Maya able to guess and adapt so quickly? Maybe it was her latent ESP giving her a preternatural edge again, or maybe...

Yes! That had to be it. Maybe Edgeworth wasn't a fan at all. His coming along was probably just part of the deal he struck with Maya so she would let him analyze Ami's pot, nothing more. Now that was an idea that made sense, much more sense than the previous scenario. Phoenix sure loved his little flashes of insight. They helped him win court cases, comforted him by letting him know he wasn't going crazy, and were pretty useful all around. Secure in the knowledge that he had figured everything out, Phoenix settled down in his seat and turned his gaze to the ice where the Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate were locked in a complexly choreographed battle. He had to admit, the performers were good. The way they moved, you could almost forget they were on ice skates. Until you looked around you and saw the ice rink again, that is.

Phoenix was, surprisingly, almost getting into the show when a tiny prickle of doubt started chafing at the back of his mind. If Edgeworth wasn't a Steel Samurai fan, then how did he answer all the trivia? Out in the arena's lobby before the show, Maya and Pearl had started quizzing each other over little factoids about the Steel Samurai. They were tough questions, things only a die-hard fanatic would know, and when the girls included Edgeworth, he knew every single answer. It was irrefutable proof... (Honestly, how did he know the crest on the back of the Steel Samurai's haori was the "panda of justice?" It always looked like an ink-blot test to Phoenix, too abstract to be recognizable.)

After the show, Phoenix decided, he and Edgeworth were going to have a long talk.

-- -- -- -- --

A few hours later in the arena lobby, Edgeworth stood with Phoenix and Gumshoe as they waited for the girls to return from the restroom. Miles felt twinge of pity for his rival, knowing that the girls both drank three jumbo-sized sodas apiece and Phoenix would have to deal with the spastic rush of hyper activity alone. However, as Miles noticed, Phoenix didn't seem at all fazed by the prospect of looking after two caffeine-crazed teeny-boppers; he was too busy alternating between sneaking glances and outright staring at him. It made Edgeworth feel more than a little awkward. What was he staring at? The piercing quality in the defense attorney's eyes made it seem as if he was trying to, through sheer willpower, see through the prosecutor's cool facade and root out a deep, dark secret hidden in his soul. It was slightly annoying.

"Can I help you with something, Wright?"

Phoenix started at the peeved bite in Edgeworth's voice, but quickly regained his composure. Somewhat... Scratching at the back pf his neck sheepishly, he plucked up his nerve and asked the question that had been gnawing at his mind since the prosecutor actually agreed to show up at the arena.

"Edgeworth... I've just been wondering, are you really a fan of the Steel Samurai or did you only come because Maya asked you to?"

That was what Wright wanted to know? Edgeworth was taken aback. Was he really so unapproachable that even asking a simple question like that made Wright nervous? Miles knew he wasn't the most personable of men, but he couldn't help but think his rival was being comically overcautious. It wasn't as if he would bite the defense attorney's head off for a minor inquiry. It wouldn't hurt to answer truthfully either. From the looks of it, the truth would shake Wright up and be an amusing way to spend the next few minutes while they waited.

"Of course I'm a fan. I have been ever since I was a child. Franziska was interested in the series as well, though she rarely had an opportunity to watch television, thanks to her father's study regimen."

True to Edgeworth's prediction, Phoenix was shook. He gaped like a fish on the shore for a full minute before snapping out of it and hurling a fierce "objection!"

"Come on, stop kidding around Edgeworth. I may not be a fan on Maya's level, but I do know the Steel Samurai wasn't around when we were kids. You couldn't have been watching it then!"

"Sorry Wright, but I'm being completely serious." The wry grin on Edgeworth's face made Phoenix doubt that, but he let the prosecutor continue uninterrupted. "You're correct, the Steel Samurai is a fairly new program, however... Do you recall the samurai show that was playing during our childhood? The one where the wandering samurai in a suit of European armor would travel the land righting wrongs for 'great justice'?"

Phoenix felt it was his duty to point out that most, if not all, samurai shows followed that pattern, but he was surprised to find that he did remember. He remembered quite vividly.

"Yeah... It was the Silver Yojimbo, right? That was a great show! I used to watch it every day in grade school. But... What does that have to do with this?"

"Well, you see," Edgeworth laughed and spread his arms, a gesture from the courtroom so familiar that it made Phoenix flinch reflexively, expecting a major bombshell to destroy his case. "After the Silver Yojimbo series ended, Global Studios bought the rights to it. Several years later, they changed the Yojimbo storyline slightly to set it in a different place and time, gave the characters new names, and remade the Silver Yojimbo as the Steel Samurai. If you watch diligently, you'll notice that, aside from the superficial differences, the plots and characters of both shows are practically identical."

Wright's jaw made a hollow "clop!" sound as it impacted the floor. He couldn't believe the Silver Yojimbo he had loved so much as a kid and the Steel Samurai Maya tormented him with now were, for all intents and purposes, the same thing. It was mind blowing, but at least now it made some sense. Edgeworth was a fan out of nostalgia, and it was logical, but now there was something else bothering Phoenix...

"Edgeworth, does that mean...? Am I...?"

"Technically a Steel Samurai fan as well? If you still like the Silver Yojimbo, then yes, in a way you are."

Phoenix flung out his arm, finger pointed and at the ready, but his disbelieving objection was cut short as Maya exited the restroom, drying her hands on the edge of her kimono as she walked with Pearl trailing close behind her.

"You wouldn't believe it, Nick. They've got those cool automatic paper towel dispensers in there, but they're all broken!" Looking up from the hem of her kimono, Maya noticed that something was up and glanced confusedly between Phoenix, Edgeworth and Gumshoe (who, not wanting to get caught up in the debate, was standing off to the side, whistling innocently and eating a soft pretzel.) "Uh, Nick, what's going on?"

"Ah..." With the objection ruined, Phoenix let his arm fall back to his side. At least her interruption gave him time organize his thoughts. "Not much, really. Edgeworth and I were just talking about the Steel Samurai's history."

"You mean like how it's based off that corny old show the Silver Yojimbo?"

Corny? Phoenix and Miles both wilted at her remark, but she was right. Favorite show and childhood memory or not, the Silver Yojimbo was always pretty hokey...

"Yeah..." Even as Wright mourned the rapidly plummeting nostalgia value of the Silver Yojimbo, he couldn't help but notice how unspeakably happy Maya looked, like she always looked when talking about the Steel Samurai. That joy was pretty much the only reason he thought about the series anymore, for her sake.

Edgeworth cleared his throat as he caught his rival drifting off into his own private world of thoughts, earning him both Maya and Phoenix's semi-rapt attention.

"Maya, I've been meaning to ask you, how did you know I was a fan of the Steel Samurai?" That got their attention. Both Phoenix and Gumshoe jumped in with their own queries, elaborating on Edgeworth's and each other. It seemed the mystery of Miles' fandom had been foremost in all their minds.

"I was wondering that too, Maya. How did you know? I've never heard Edgeworth say anything to hint that he's a fan, and it's not like he has a Steel Samurai bumper sticker on his car... I was shocked when I found out."

"Me too, pal. I've known Mr. Edgeworth for years and I had no idea. Was it just a lucky guess, or is there some secret thing only you fans can see? It's a 'it takes one to know one' thing, isn't it?"

With a cool, level-headed smile to rival her sister's, Maya just shook her head.

"Come on guys, I've got ESP! I can't really read your minds, but there are all sorts of things I know about you, all of you."

From the lighthearted way she said it, the men knew Maya didn't mean anything bad, but the words still sent chills down their spines. _'There are all sorts of things I know about you...'_ How creepy. As they walked out to their cars in the parking lot, an unspoken sentiment passes between Phoenix, Miles, and Gumshoe. _'There are all sorts of things I know about you...'_ Each of them knew those words would haunt them for the rest of the day.

* * *

AN: So, I added a bit of my own madness to the Phoenix Wright world. Think of the Silver Yojimbo as the original 'Horton Hears a Who' in book form, and the Steel Samurai as the hideous CGI movie remake. Also, Maya could be creepy as all get-out if she really wanted to.

By the way, am I the only one who truly despises how FF doesn't support dashed linebreaks in chapters anymore? Dashes looked classier than these rows of X's I have to use now. (Since the full horizontal rule looks bad, trust me...) Do the powers-that-be think before they make these changes?

* * *


	39. For the Prosecutor Who Has Everything

Disclaimer: Cats are amazing creatures. They have bones, but they can choose not to use them.

AN: Another Edgeworth-centric chapter. But you guys don't mind, do you? And, I really want one of these, even though I'm not a prosecutor.

* * *

**For the Prosecutor Who Has Everything**

It was approximately nine o'clock when Edgeworth heard the knock on his door. The interruption came as a surprise, the prosecutor didn't expect anyone else to be in the office so long after most of the staff went home. Scenarios, of who his visitor might be and of what their purpose in coming was, flitted through his head to be analyzed as he straightened his suit and cravat, trying somewhat in vain to make himself appear more presentable. Perhaps there had been an emergency of some sort, or a crime committed that needed immediate attention. Whatever it was, Miles hoped it didn't involve his car again. He didn't need another crime scene in his trunk.

Satisfied with his level of preparedness to face whatever awaited him outside the office, Miles turned the knob and swung the door open to find...

"Detective Gumshoe?"

"Morning, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! I came by to wish you a happy birthday!" The detective didn't seem to notice Edgeworth's confusion. As far as Miles knew, his birthday wasn't until tomorrow. Either Gumshoe was off or... Oh. The prosecutor could only shake his head in amazement and a little self-loathing.

"I worked straight through the night again, didn't I?" It was funny, it had been 'tomorrow' for about nine hours. Thanks to his drive (and more than a little caffeine) he didn't even notice how late, then early it had gotten. "Hm, well thank you, detective. I suppose it's fortunate that I lost track of time. I've already done my day's work so now I can go to sleep in celebration of my birthday."

"Whatever you want, Mr. Edgeworth. I've got to get back to the station pretty soon or the Chief'll be real mad, so here. Let me just give you this, then I gotta go." He shoved a small square box wrapped in Blue Badger-print paper into Edgeworth's hands then started off down the hall before the prosecutor had a chance to say anything, calling back over his shoulder. "I hope you like it! Have a happy birthday, sir!"

Miles waited until the detective disappeared around the corner, headed to the elevators in the adjacent hallway, before retreating into his office and closing the door. A gift? How unexpected. Though he wondered what was in the box (and where the wrapping paper came from, maybe it was a new invention of the Police Chief's) Miles set it on his desk and tended to his curtains first. His office was dim, almost cave-like with them shut and the now-available natural light was much preferred over the incandescent glow he had been using before.

Once the office was back to the standards Miles deemed tolerable, he poured himself a cup of tea from the remains of his last teapot full and sat down to open Gumshoe's gift. Carefully opening the wrapping, he peeled the paper away from the box without putting a single tear in it. (It wasn't his style to rip open presents like a sugar-crazed schoolchild, though it sometimes sounded fun.) The next level of packaging was a thin cardboard box, opened, filled with wadded-up tissue paper, pulled out, to insulate the object inside.

When Edgeworth finally saw what was in the box, he laughed a laugh that would have made Damon Gant jealous. Where in the world did Gumshoe find such a thing? The prosecutor had no idea, but he would have to thank the detective again. It was useful, beautiful, and hilarious.

It was a fine china teacup. Pure white and slightly larger than average; trimmed with gold foil along the cup's rim, handle, and base. What made it different from all other white and gold teacups was the message in maroon calligraphy around the inside and outside surfaces of the cup.

"World's Greatest Prosecutor." Absolutely perfect.

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AN: I'd put a cup like that to good use, what with my insane, near Godot-like, consumption of tea.

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	40. Enough Is Enough

Disclaimer: My computer hates me. As of now, it's refusing to let me right-click.

AN: I'm back! I got my Phoenix Wright inspiration revved up again and, after I return from vacation, there'll be some important (to me) news to share! But for now, I give ye this. It is, of course, set long before Juan's death in JFA case four.

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**Enough Is Enough**

One of them always had to win. One of them had to emerge victorious from each insignificant little clash. They could never accept a tie because neither could accept that Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida could be equals in any way. One always had to be better. It was one of the few things Celeste hated about the both of them.

She had always loved both men dearly, but their constant competition... She despised it. Because of their mutual obsession, she could barely go anywhere in public without being thoroughly embarrassed. If she walked down the street, went to a movie or restaurant, did anything at all with one, they would run into fans and end up being detained just long enough that the other would show up and issue an irresistible challenge.

It was especially bad at parties.

Since the two traveled in the same social circles, when one was invited chances were the other was too. Celeste didn't even bother trying to remember all the stupid contests she had been called upon to judge. It was easier to keep a dumbest-of-the dumb list, for those times when she was the most deeply ashamed. Like that time at Jack Hammer's when the two of them called everyone out of the water and proceeded to race one hundred laps around the olympic-sized pool. Neither one made it to one hundred. Matt burned out at sixty-two, but that was still five more laps than Juan swam. And who could forget their epic bowling showdown?

They started a "friendly" game at Will Powers' party using his private lanes and ended up playing until long after the other guests had all gone. The story as she heard it was they kept scoring within a few points of each other or tied completely and demanded another game. The two of them ended up staying the night in Will's two guest houses and started bowling the next day. It was enough to drive a girl crazy!

But she had to admit, there was one contest she had enjoyed at least a little, their singing contest. Karaoke to be exact. Celeste still smiled when she remembered that one. Juan was definitely the victor that time, and made it painfully clear why he was the Jammin' Ninja and Matt was not. Still, in light of their last challenge, Celeste was completely convinced that their endless competitions had to cease.

Their last, idiotic challenge was to eat raw oysters and old sushi, then ride the most insanely stomach-twisting rollercoaster they could find at Global Studios' amusement park section. They were betting on who would lose their lunch first and called on her to officiate by riding along, sitting between the two of them in the car. Celeste's final decision was that they both lost when they tied, not over the side of the car, but right on her lap. Both of them.

It had to stop.

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AN: When they talk about Matt and Juan's rivalry in-game, they mention swimming, bowling, and singing contests among what they did so this is the logical progression... Hehehehe. I do feel sorry for Celeste though. Both because of what happened to her, and because of what I just put her through in this chapter.

By the way... Any of you fine folks who read my other Phoenix Wright story 'Blackmail' and read chapter two already, go back and read it again. I replaced the chapter with Redd White for a new blackmailer. Someone much better. That is all.

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